


Girls und Abrams

by HumbleCommoner



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Army, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lesbian Sex, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tank Crew, War, but not much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 80,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumbleCommoner/pseuds/HumbleCommoner
Summary: Lt. Korra Waters is a simple woman of simple tastes. She loves three things in this world: Raava, her sixty-five ton, armor-plated baby; a stiff drink at a good party; and a pretty girl to spend the night with. Trouble is, what if all three of those things come together to make her life a living hell?Enter Sgt. Asami Sato, new girl in the unit, former one-night-stand (okay, maybe two-night, would you believe four?), and Korra's new driver. That's not awkward, at all.To make matters even worse, the whole unit is set to ship out on deployment in four weeks. That means the Ell-Tee has less than a month to break in her greenhorn, party 'til her blood turns to rum, and shake this nasty case of the feels she's been coming down with. But all's fair in Love and War, and a certain uppity little Sergeant isn't going to play fair, even if she pulls rank.





	1. Prologue: The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party that changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my name's Humble. This is something I came up with late at night after a long day at work. This first chapter is smut, so if that's what you're after, enjoy.
> 
> There will be a story that leads to future smut and some pretty serious decisions for the girls. Will likely be much more lighthearted than my other work. Less intrigue, more personal interaction. And fluff. Look forward to fluff.

Another Saturday, another pass, another drink in hand.

This time, at a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's place. Honestly, it wasn't her kind of scene. The music was bassy electronica, rattling her teeth with every drop, yet, the dance floor (or cleared out dining room) was dead. The half-blacklight arrangement of the fixtures, probably some attempt to be edgy and shit, only succeeded in showing every spot the lonely bastard who lived here had watched porn and whacked it.

That and threatening to give Korra a seizure every time she turned her head to scan the docile crowd for something or someone interesting.

Too many guys for her taste, a practical sausage fest. They eyed her, hungrily, little half-chubs tenting their pants as they imagined being the one to score. _Yeah, no thanks. Not interested in anything you've got there, guys._

Dogtags jangled 'round her neck as she abandoned yet another room filled with horny creepers. Not enough of her fellow ground-pounders for her to be comfortable either. She felt like a fish out of water. Surrounded by civies. No backup, no posse. No one to help get the real party started. Trying to get non-Army to organize a proper keg stand was like trying to herd cats. Damn frat guys got it all wrong.

It's all about organization.

Still, could be worse. The beer was cold, the shots were strong, she wasn't being yelled at. The pounding beat, while not her jam, was excellent at keeping thoughts at bay.

But that was only part of the routine, and she knew it. Steps one and two of Lieutenant Waters' boot-camp on self-therapy and having a good time while doing it. There needed to be some action, of one kind or another. Much as Korra would enjoy thumping some heads if anyone tried to get a little too friendly (ass grabbing and getting beer spilled on your tits were both common tactics at these kind of gigs to get off), she didn't much feel like spending a night in the stocks for it. Let alone the chewing out her CO would give her before she could explain things.

No, Korra wanted some sweeter action. Someone who could scratch this itch of hers, and whose itch she could scratch in return. Maybe a couple times.

Thank god she'd just found someone who might fit the bill.

 _Well, hello, Legs_ , she internally wolf-whistled, admiring the familiar shape of that taut rear and flowing mane of raven hair. Legs was Legs 'cause she had legs for days. Long and tone and firm. Legs was Legs since she had never given her name, even if she'd offer up quite a few other things, and screamed a couple more.

A part of the soldier, an old nostalgic part, wished she knew something else to call her. Something more than a nickname she'd come up with out of desperation to associate with the face and body she had started searching for in every crowd.

Honestly, she had any number of to choose from. Of course, every one that passed her mind failed to do the woman proper justice, in more ways than one.

Dollface for her gorgeous features. Pale, smooth skin. Lips, so plump and kissable.

Curves, because she curved, in such a perfect way. Hard and soft in all the right places. Breasts and butt that strange mixture of the two. Taut and shapely, but melted under her fingers at the lightest touch. So lovely to hold onto, if only for a while longer. Just one whole night, then Korra could die happy. Just laying there with her arms around them.

Green after her eyes. Those fucking eyes. They haunted the Lieutenant when she dreamed, and sometimes as she waked. Blink and they were there, hooded with lust, wide with surprise, moan poised on ruby lips.

Brains for the science talk she was often trading with her gaggle of little friends. Physics, she thought, and some chemistry. No idea what she did with the knowledge, but it showed that she was smart. Korra liked smart girls. They knew what they wanted from life.

And, of course, Snark, for the little quips she made. Lightly stinging barbs at the slightest sign of disrespect, shot off like reflex. While only thrice on the receiving end of those volleys, there had been ample opportunity to see them laden unto others. Struck down in their efforts to bed her, only making the tanker's success taste all the sweeter.

It had been a couple months since her gaydar first tripped with this one. At a block party up on Bradford. They'd both been looking for a good time and found it in the back of Korra's car, down each-other's pants. And at a hotel, just down the road, ten minutes later. 'Til, about, 0100. Best one-night-stand Korra could ever remember.

And the second one was even better.

And so on…

This would make the sixth time they had crossed paths. Three of those previous encounters had ended as she hoped this one would, with them entwined above, below, or amongst the sheets of a cheap hotel or a friend's guest bed. The other two, sadly fruitless. One or the other of them being too drunk for clear head and consent.

Name or no, Legs, whoever she was, deserved that much and more.

Slam her drink, bulk her courage, put on that winning smile. Dive right in at the deep end. Pretense and hesitance would only hold her back. She was smart, she knew what she wanted out of this. And the only one she'd wanted it from, of late, was the nameless woman in her sights.

“Hey there,” the Lieutenant schmoozed, strutting up while trying to exude as much confidence as she could muster. Try to keep her teeth from chattering. Really hard when she knows she's batting at least two tiers above her on the 1-10 scale of looks, if she's generous.

Whipping hair draws her eye, distracting the soldier as her infrequent lover turns from her conversation. The others, their eyes narrow, noses turning up at Korra's fatigues and drab-green top. New set, but still GI. That turned a lot of people off. Legs, on the other hand, had told her exactly the opposite.

Emeralds meet her sea-blues. Recognition, followed by a sultry, seductive smile. “Well, well, well,” the unknown beauty hummed, just above the pulse of Daft Punk. Course she'd get the best song of the night. “Fancy seeing you here?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” she charmed back, flashing her pearly-whites and shifting a little more heavily onto one leg so her hips were showed off, just a tad, in the baggy pants she was wearing.

“How do we keep meeting like this, Lieutenant?” Legs asked, stepping away from her friends and closer to the woman in green and tan. That look in her eyes as they quickly darted about Korra's face and body made the tanker's mouth water and her core ache. “Everywhere I go, there you are. Are you sure you don't work S-2?”

“How 'bout we go somewhere else?” the officer suggested immediately, in no mood to beat around the bush. Flirting and playing coy had been fun the first couple of times, but it had quickly gotten tiring. Once she had gotten a taste, both figuratively and literally, time spent spinning her wheels felt wasted. “Then, maybe I can interrogate you properly.”

A laugh echoed from those delicious lips. It was equal parts musical and terrifying. Laughing at or laughing with, her tiny lizard brain asked, even as a hand rested on her hip and hot breath made her head spin.

“Mmn, sounds interesting,” the object of her lust and interest purred, so close to kissing it was hard to resist, “Got somewhere in mind?”

“My place is ten minutes away.”

No sooner had the words left Korra's mouth, did her heart start hammering in her chest for all the wrong reasons. The fuck did she invite her over for?! There was a cheap motel almost as close the other way. They were gonna bone, not have dinner after a movie date. Houses always made things weird.

She'd just made things weird.

After the briefest pause, Legs gave her reply, punctuated by a hungry kiss, “Your car or mine?”

“I jogged,” Korra moaned into her mouth as they parted to the sounds of groans and cheers from their fellow partygoers, dependent on how raging their boners were for one of them before, divided by how jilted they felt at being double rejected, times lesbian kiss. Lovely little formula, that.

“Mine it is, then.”

And to her car they went, hands all over each other. Pulling, pushing, palming, petting. The host scowled as they burst out his door, taking with them two of a very short selection of tail to pick between. Kisses, fiery and swift as they practically tumbled to Legs' car. Newer model Ford, though Korra didn't wasn't intent on checking the make. Black and shiny, had an engine, would get them to a bed, all she needed to know.

“Where to?” the woman asked, fumbling for her key fob.

“Up three blocks, take a left,” the soldier relayed with military precision, grabbing a handful of ass to tide her over until she could strip those jeans off. “White apartments on the right, about two miles up.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Legs replied, giving her a scarily textbook salute. If she didn't know any better, Korra might have taken her for a Benning brat.

_No, not Legs. I need to know. I want it if I'm gonna ask her the thing._

“Say, what's your name?”

They both pause, halfway in the act of climbing into the car. Those gorgeous greens looked at her, mix of confusion, shock, and a little blankness playing behind them, where only lust had been seconds before. “You mean,” she started, pointing at the veteran, “we've slept together and I haven't told you my name?”

“Um?” Korra said, not really sure what to say, “Yeah?”

“Wow,” the bundle of sexual dynamite laughed, running a hand through her hair and standing up straight, “That's like something straight out of a bad romance novel. I am sooo sorry about that.”

“No, no,” the horny tanker countered quickly, blush creeping into her cheeks. Why was she the one getting embarrassed, dammit!? “I mean, like, I never asked or anything, so...”

Shaking her head, the girl whose car she was about to enter in order to go have no-strings-attached sex extended her hand across the roof. “I'm Asami. Asami Sato,” she introduced herself, smiling in a disarmingly friendly way that made Korra's heart skip a beat, “It's a pleasure to meet you, I guess?”

 _Asami. A-sa-mi._ Yes. Never had one word given Korra such satisfaction as this one name. She had to use it, see how it rolled off the tongue.

“Korra. Korra Waters,” the officer replied, letting the Lieutenant part sit by the wayside. No need to get any more formal with what they were doing. They were already shaking over sex. If an MP or cop showed up right now, fuck her life. CO would have her crucified outside her office by daybreak. “Great to see you, again, Asami.”

Oh, yes. So sweet on her lips now that she knew it. Already, she knew she liked it. Wanted to say it more.

Whispered in breathy moan, screamed in throws of passion, and maybe, hopefully, over coffee and a pastry in the near future.

The meeting of their palms was firm, neither woman giving an inch to each other or any feelings the might have had. Once they broke, they just looked at each other for a moment, letting the muggy heat consume them.

At last, Korra broke the deadlock. “Sooo,” she began, rubbing the back of her neck, “You still wanna fuck?”

“Oh, definitely,” Asami replied, instantly, stooping to get in. “Get in the car and stop asking stupid questions.”

This time, it was her turn to say, “Yes, Ma'am,” although, in a lower growl than her ride had. Throwing herself into the car, the Ell-Tee damn near ripped the seat-belt from it's mounting by yanking it across her.  The device vexed her, once, twice, in trying to slow her down. Screaming and jerking to a halt just short of her goal. _Don't you try to cock-block me, you piece of shit_ , she mentally chewed, slamming the connector into its home.

The engine hummed to life, low vibrations doing nothing for the woman in green. But Asami sure was, though. _Damn, she's hot_ , the soldier marveled, still shocked she'd ever been able to get into those skintight jeans.

“Eyes up here,” the sassy thing teased, spinning the wheel to bring them onto the street and immediately hammering over the speed-limit.

It looked like she was just as hungry for this as the officer. “I like those, too,” she replied, immediately flicking up to meet them. She'd have all the time she needed to admire everything below, later. And lather attention on it all.

“You flatter me,” Asami purred, racing through a yellow light without batting an eye. Her control on the wheel was supernatural. Weaving around the sparse traffic like it wasn't there, no wasted millisecond on any corner. Purpose in her actions, lust in her eyes.

“I'm gonna do a whole lot more than flatter you,” Korra said, gripping white-knuckle tight on her pants to keep from sliding fingers between one of their legs.

With a determined look on her face, the raven-haired beauty pushed them to near highway speed, only decelerating when Korra pointed out her apartment coming up. The turn into the parking lot make the tanker's stomach lurch, leaving her scrambling for purchase. Despite that, she recovered quickly, racing the only woman she'd gone to bed with in months in tearing from the car.

Lips found each other at the head of the bonnet, clashing with undisguised need. The platoon leader dragged them to her abode, lest they do the deed in plain sight, for all to see.

Her pants were unbuttoned before she had turned the key in the lock, shirt off before the door swung closed. A low chuckle escaped her throat as she was swiftly stripped. Eager to turn the tables, she pressed her hand into Asami's sternum, pining her lightly to the wall. Fingers dipped down as she used a kiss to hold the woman there.

She gave plenty of time to protest, releasing cherry lips to press her own again and again down the line of the woman's jaw and off to the nape of her neck. Far from protesting, the civvy whimpered, using her teeth to pull at her tormentors earlobe in encouragement

Up and up the garment came, revealing more of that pale skin she found herself fantasizing about during droll meetings about unit readiness and fuel consumption ratios. Underneath, black lacy bra, cradling perfect breasts tipped with tiny pink nips. The choice made Korra growl with lust. “Someone was looking to get lucky,” she accused, chasing a kiss that was returned with relish, fingers sliding into her pants to gather some of the officer's wetness on them. “Such a naughty girl.”

“Mmn, you have no idea,” Asami hummed as she ran along either side of the Lieutenant's entrance, carefully avoiding brushing her clit through the thin layer of cotton.

Enough of these games. With strong arms toned by years of training, Korra gripped the woman's thighs and lifted. Legs wrapped 'round her waist, free arm clutched her shoulder. Regrettably, their new position force the hand teasing her to withdraw. Hips bucked in protest, causing Asami to gasp as their pelvises ground together.

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” she seduced, making a show of cleaning the slick from her fingers. Nimble tongue danced over each of them, before being drawn between her lips to savor.

 _Oh, yes_ , the host shivered, mouth watering at the sight. _I'm going to spoil you rotten for that._

Into the bedroom, kicking aside a basket of unfolded laundry. Throw her onto the bed. Liked it rough, she'd said their first time at this dance. That could be arranged, had been before. There were boons to skipping the tender shit. No time consuming strip-tease to deal with. Just peel off her sports bra while Asami does the same with her pants, showing off the matching bottoms to her top.

Popping the last button on her pants, Korra let them fall away leaving her all but nude, save for her plain cotton briefs, as she climbed onto the bed. Long legs parted to welcome her, wet stain marking the satin at their joining.

Up her body, pressing kisses along her supple skin the whole way. Heated on her lips, sighs as her fingers traced a surprisingly familiar pattern. Over a faded scar on her left side, 'round the little mole on her right. Pull down the cups of her lingerie, “You won't be needing those,” she said, taking and already stiff nipple into her mouth, sucking it taut.

“Mmn, fuck,” Asami cursed, weaving fingers into chestnut hair. Legs opened even farther, welcoming the hand that slinked down to her sex with a roll. “How are you so good at this?”

 _Years of experience,_ the commissioned woman thought, switching sides. Years of picking up women at bars and parties and socials. Long before she earned her field commission, even before she was a buck private, not that her parents had ever been let in on that. From every walk of life, they had been pulled. From army brats, like herself, to civilians living near base. Rich, poor, everything in between. Even a Senator's daughter.

Usually, she'd never see them again and never wanted to. A life spent jumping around every year or two had taught her never to go back for seconds, let alone try for anything more.

But this one. Oh, this woman felt different. The sounds she made as Korra teased her folds, in much the same manner as hers had been, stoked a fire in her belly that she hadn't felt in years. Or maybe ever. Tasting her skin and sex felt electric. Everything about her was amazing.

So wet. So sensitive. The lightest brush of her fingers made the woman writhe in pleasure, drawing the sweetest moans she had ever heard.

“S-stop teasing me,” Asami hissed, digging her nails into the shoulders confining her as Korra squeezed her lips together. “Oh, god, I need you to fuck me, Korra.”

Breaking her hold on the pert nipple in her mouth with a pop, the soldier took her sweet time in responding. First, she gripped the little bud lightly in her teeth and pulled, letting go when fingers tensed in her hair. Same for the other, back to the first, repeat. Kisses up the collarbone, salty taste of sweat. Back up the neck and jaw, claim a kiss. Mixed among the usual flavor is the faint taste of herself. It thrills her to know that, by the end of the night, that hint will be far stronger.

“What do you say?” she asked, tempting fulfilling the request, moving to glide just along the precipice.

“P-please, Ma'am?” the woman begged, despite trying to grind herself against Korra's palm.

 _That'll do._ Her finger curled into the warm wetness of the beauty's flower. It welcomed her, quivering and needy as it's mistress. “Good girl,” she praised, adding a second finger once there had been time to adjust to the first. One had never been enough to get her off. Woman after her own heart. “Damn, you're wet.”

“”S cause your so sexy,” Asami groaned, pulsing 'round her digits.

“Pot.” Kiss. “Kettle.” Kiss.

“So, that's your kink?” came the teasing reply, punctuated by a hearty moan as the thrusting began. “Oh, fuck. If I had known that, I'd have dressed up as a toaster for you.”

A smile broke the officer's lips. Bet that wasn't supposed to come out. “Mmn, so you were looking for me?” she accused, curling her fingers to hit that spot inside her that drove the green-eyed nymph wild. “Does no one else do it for you, anymore, 'Sami?”

Hooded emeralds stared into hers, reflection of the sea playing in them. Her 'lover' chewed her lip, holding back her answer til a thumb pressed down on her clit. “No,” she admitted, whimpering with need.

_Same._

Same for her. After that first night, anyone else she attempted to bed seemed paltry, in comparison. No one felt this good, sounded this good, smelled this good, tasted as good as Legs- no Asami. And no one else had silently demanded they cuddle afterwards. Nor had they given her the urge to break her rule.

No dating. It never ends well.

After two abortive tries at hooking up, she'd ditched the party scene. Committed herself to go cold turkey until the memories faded to nothing. When the face she saw as she relieved the pressure in her loins changed to be ambiguous, again. Then she'd seen her in the corner of the nearest dive bar, gin and tonic in hand. _Fuck it_ , her brain had gone, and now here they were.

“Christ, I'm so close already!” Asami said, half-complaint/half-ecstatic cry. “Please, Korra. Give it to me. Harder!”

_Your wish is my command._

Harder, she went. Her palm slid against smooth, wet skin and well-trimmed drapes. Curl her thrusts to press against the spot she'd found. Another finger was added to the attack when that proved not enough. Three inside, thumb on her bundle, and the party girl came undone. Legs and arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Tongue invaded her mouth, stifling the moans to levels that wouldn't wake the neighbors. Her walls might be thicker than most, but not thick enough, from experience.

What couldn't be contained was the pulsing of the woman's insides, trembling as orgasm rolled through her like a wave. That feeling would never get old, no matter how many times she felt it on her fingers. The sensation of pleasing this near-stranger sent a fresh pulse of wetness to her own nethers.

Lips broke when they needed air. Fingers withdrawn once the greatest of the tremors passed. What a successful offensive, she noted, debating whether to copy Asami's stunt. There would plenty of opportunity later, to the god of sheets the wetness was condemned.

It would be her turn, next.

“That was fast,” she said without judgment. Rather, it was pride that filtered through her words. “Guess I must live up to the hype, after all.”

“Aren't we full of ourselves,” Asami chuckled, still trembling from aftershocks. A hand pushed on Korra's shoulder, legs leveraging her as well. They roll, switching places in a surprise attack. “Let's see how smug you are after I'm done with you.”

The soldier attempts a comeback, but is silenced by a deep kiss. Once that broke, a finger took its place. A knee slides up the bed, grinding thigh against her tender flower. She simpers and a hand gropes her chest. Down her front the kisses go. Sucking, nipping, nibbling softer skin with every second. “See, not so easy, is it?” the woman asked as she reached the swell of her breasts.

“Nope!” the officer gasped as a hot mouth wrapped around her nipple. Sly fingers had worked their way down her stomach, palming her abs as they went, just to enact sweet revenge on her sex. “Not easy!”

They looped into the front of her drawers, first pulling them taut, then more. “Now, that's better,” Asami hummed, popping her nip free before descending on the other. “I think you're just about done teasing me about being 'fast', aren't you, Lieutenant? I've never felt you this wet before.”

“You've never seen me when they hold the wet t-shirt contest at beach week,” Korra chuckled as her eyes watered. Getting ground out on her own underwear, that had to be some kind of new low for her. But damn, if it didn't feel hot! Of course, that could just be due to the smirking eyes looking up at her from her bosom. Or the hand between her legs, in general. Knowing what those fingers were capable of was a powerful aphrodisiac. “It's like a lake down th-th-that's not fair!”

Halfway through her bragging and a finger pressed down on her button. Legs clamped around the intrusion out of reflex as her body spasmed. Tiny circles tormented her. Fast, intense, blinding.

“I thought the objective was making you come, Ma'am,” that snark replied, emerald eyes laughing at her shocked pleasure. Tongue circled her navel, now. So close to where it needed to be. Kisses on her toned muscles drove her mad with need. Damn this woman! Driving her wild while the only thing she knew about her was a name. “Of course, if you have other orders, Ma'am?”

“You little-” the Lieutenant tried to threaten, any commanding element to her voice destroyed by the little “eep” that escaped her lips as the first kiss descended below her pant-line. “Permission to put that mouth of yours to better use.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Asami purred, teeth gripping the hem of her panties and pulling them down. This whole time, she hadn't broken eye contact. Only when eye to heat with Korra's pussy did that change, and only for a second. When they returned, there was a thirst in them that hadn't been before. “Spread 'em.”

Legs or lips?

No harm in doing both.

Once her final garment was discarded, the lifer bared herself. Shamelessly. She was about a decade removed from worrying about someone looking at her down there. Besides, it wasn't like it was this woman's first trip between her legs.

Not that prior experience prepared her for those plump lips on her flower. In a hundred years, she could never get tired of that feeling. Something special about how she went at it, though she couldn't put her finger on exactly what. Whatever it was, it made Korra melt. Moans resonated in her chest. Low and primal. Ecstasy was hers. Nirvana between her legs.

“That's how you should be using that tongue of yours,” the tanker hissed, feeling the pad press on her lips, suction on her labia. A single finger tease just below the base of her opening, threatening to go either way. Not a fan of that kind of stuff, normally, but getting a _little_ kinky never hurt anyone. “Don't start something you're not gonna finish,” she warned, curling fingers into black silk to better control things.

As she did that, Asami inhaled, breathing in her scent. A shudder ran through both of them. “Taste so good,” the woman breathed on her. Kisses were planted maddeningly around her sex, further down her thighs. Surely they were working backwards, somehow?

Whatever! Felt sublime. Best she'd ever had, by miles.

“Can't wait to taste you,” she squeaked back, fingers having returned to her clit.

“Promises, promises...”

Delving deeper, now. Working her harder. Have to fight to prolong. Been days since she let herself go. Almost two weeks since sex. Sex with her. Only sex worth having. “Wanna sixty-nine?” Korra offered, eager to return the favor of oral acrobatics. Somewhat selfishly, if she was honest. Without a mouth to kiss her, Asami would be forced to either let her lover bask in the moans she earned, or direct them somewhere that would feel amazing. “You know I'm good for it.”

A contemplative hum into her pussy. Eyes narrowing. Thoughts whirring like gears. “Later.”

_Oh, good. There's gonna be a later. No cut and run, tonight. Good time to ask if she wants to get to know each other._

“Deal.”

Pull her tighter, now that that's settled. Make her whimper like she does when she's treated a little rough. Not pain, a little control to spice things up.

A hand moves to fondle one of the breasts Asami had tormented so expertly. Korra rolls the nipple between her fingers, chewing on her lip. Judging by the splay of her hips and way she raised herself up onto her knees, the party girl is having a little fun of her own. Whether she's getting off or just keeping excited, it's hard to tell.

Hope it's the latter. Make her job even easier when it comes time to switch places.

Little whispered words of instruction and encouragement leap from her lips. “Harder. Go back. Right there. So good.” She followed orders pretty well, while also drawing out the suffering. Making Korra squirm. Make her fight for every tremor of her insides.

Not for long, though. The combination of skill and abstinence is a powerful one.

She jerks, accidentally yanking on the ebony locks in her grip. “Sorry,” she gasps, letting go and balling her fist in the sheets. Gentle caress of of lips on hers. Sucking a little harder, tiny bit of nibbling on her hood and she's done.

When the damn breaks, it's a lovely feeling. Sense of warmth radiating… oneness with the universe… pulled taut like a bowstring, only for all the tension to just… blah, blah, blah. Went from feeling good to feeling spectacular. Spectacularly spectacular. Especially the way she rubbed little circles on her mound to prolong the feeling of euphoria. Draw her out both ways. What a manipulative little minx.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the Lieutenant chanted in time to the throbbing of her core. “Damn, you're too good at that.”

The contact on her cunt is severed. Glistening lips crest on her thigh, kissing on her quivering muscle, then up her abs again. A tortuously slow way to get to making out. “Sounds like you're complaining,” the civvy said, spending extra time around her navel, once more, “Or, maybe, jealous?”

 _Yeah, jealous of anyone else you've ever done this for._ “Now who's full of themselves?” Korra laughed, still riding out the aftershocks. “Hurry up and kiss me.”

A theatrical roll of the eyes. Likes to take her time with everything, this one. Like that **about** her. Maybe she just savored her way through life. Had to ask her, if the chance ever arose. More important things to think about, now. Specifically, kisses. The LT had never kissed any of her other rendezvous' passed the foreplay stage. But, much as she loved Asami's moans, her lips were much better.

They meet, tender, like actual lovers. Taste of herself strong on the woman's tongue and teeth and lips. Inhale. Breath in her scent. Cinnamon and strawberries, this time. Not her favorite. Preferred when she smelled of lilac and cherry blossoms. Her kisses always tasted of cherries and sunshine. Maybe they both loved them. Something they could talk about. Bond over their favorite fruit, maybe. Like the start of one of those romances her mom loved so much.

Teeth pulled on her lip, dragging her from that particular fantasy and into another one. “Looked like you were spacing out there, for a sec,” Asami purred, mild concern in her eyes, then a playful jesting, “Don't tell me I've fucked your brains out, soldier girl.”

“Not this time,” she denied, despite the continued twitching in her groin. Peck her on the nose. Give her another winning smile.

It struck the tanker, as it often did, that this wasn't normal. Any of it. Flirting like this. Sticking around once they had done the deed. Seeing each other, again, then sleeping together, **again**. Holding each other, wanting to hold her. They weren't acting like strangers in the night, anymore. An argument could be made they never did in the first place.

Having _stirrings_. Feelings, god forbid.

Pining for her. Worrying about her. Daydreaming about holding hands when she should be working.

Hadn't known her name for an hour, yet it played on repeat in her head like a catchy song.

Pressure on her shoulders. The woman moves to kneel atop her, legs straddling on either side, hips resting on her pelvis. A little gear and this could make for a fun position. Korra's hands grip Asami's waist, while the party girl's press into the definition of her torso.

Got a pretty tight body of her own. You could bounce a ping pong ball off that belly. _I wonder how she looks in a fancy dress? Could take her to a really nice place? Proper dinner and a little wine._

“There it goes, again,” her dance partner, now crush, said with a little scowl. The way her eyebrows knit together when she was worried was just adorable.

“Sorry,” Korra apologized, “Just thinking about stuff.”

A musical laugh. Fingers probing the bottom of her breasts. Bigger than Asami's by a bit. She said she'd liked them their first time, envied them the second. Made her feel better about the fact it made getting into her flak vest a royal pain in the ass. “About me, I hope.” _You have no idea, lady._ “I won't stand you thinking about another woman while you're with me, you hear.”

“Never.”

“Flatterer.”

“Only for you.”

More laughter. “You've already got in my pants, Korra,” she chuckled, reaching back to pop her bra all the way off, flinging it aside once she did. “Not really sure what you're trying to accomplish here?”

The LT hummed, slipping her fingers into the elastic of Asami's panties. She still had enough in the tank for one more round. “Maybe I'm trying to get you to do something naughty?”

“Do tell?”

“You'll have to come here to find out.”

One more round turned to two. Three. They ebbed and flowed, swinging between delightful tension and overwhelming release. Minutes ticked by, then an hour. Two. More time than Korra had spent in bed with someone in years. Even the previous encounters between them had been brief, passionate meetings, by comparison. Honestly, it felt kinda wrong. Backwards. All she had was a name and an intimate knowledge of what Asami's favorite curses were when climaxing. And yet, here they were, romping it up in her bed like a couple of newlyweds.

“Damn,” she sighed as the civvy collapsed next to her, hair wild and cheeks flushed from her latest orgasm.

“Damn,” the woman with whom shared the bed concurred, staring up at the ceiling.

Something semi-hard pressed into the small of Korra's back. Probably the strap-on, judging by the shape and sensation of latex on her skin.

That sure hadn't lasted long. Hadn't even got a turn, herself. Discarded to enjoy a bit of payback cunnilingus. Still, she could now say she'd been on the receiving end of the most maddeningly tender fucking in history. Could still feel the hands on her hips, blanket clutched in her hands, another mouthful in her teeth as she was slow-boned to perfection.

She rolled, pulling the toy from under her and flinging it off the bed. It landed with a rubbery thunk, to be dealt with when its owner's legs didn't feel like jelly. So, about an hour, by best estimate.

That is, barring any trips to the restroom, the door, or any movement in general, for the duration.

“That was-”

“Wow?”

“Yeah, wow.” The LT turned, hissing as her thighs pressed against her tender sex. “Not usually on the receiving end of one of those.” She jerked her head back towards the dildo. “Wouldn't mind letting you do that again. You've got skills.”

“Thanks. Not usually on the giving end of one, either,” Asami hummed. Fingers brushed hair out of her stunning greens, before doing the same for Korra's blues. “Good to know I've got a talent for it.” A cheeky look in her eyes as they flick down her host's front. “I've gotta say, your ass looks great from that angle. Really did it for me.”

“Says the woman whose ass looks great from any angle,” the lifer returned, enjoying a peck on the lips as reward.

“Again with the flattery,” the civvy smiled, laying an open palm on her side and softly stroking it up and down her flank. “Sorry to tell you this, but I'm all sexed out for the night, Korra.”

A single barking laugh pulls itself from the Army woman's chest. “Trust me, I'm not asking, babe. Pretty sure you're gonna have me walking funny tomorrow morning.” Another kiss, slightly longer than the previous. It confused the officer's mind. Made her think things. Want to actually ask if their 'thing' was a thing. “Say, can I ask you something weird?”

Ruby lips pursed together in a confused look, eyes doing much the same. “Like, sex weird or...”

“No, no, no,” Korra denied, immediately. Last thing she needed was the woman thinking she was a perv. Or maybe she liked pervs? Seemed to get off on calling her Ma'am. No, that's stupid. Why even go there?

Deep breath.

Hold.

Out.

_Just ask her, dammit! This is nowhere near the scariest thing you've done in your life. Not even in the top five: Sadie Hawkins Dance, first combat rotation, getting blown up, coming out to mom, coming out to dad. Doesn't even scratch that shit. Not by a country mile._

_Fuck it!_

“I was wondering if you'd like to get a cup of coffee, sometime?”

The question hung between them like a bomb mid-drop, waiting to explode. The hand on Korra's side stilled. Panic played behind the emeralds. Suddenly, her whole body was fidgeting, seemingly uncomfortable with her presence.

“Oh,” Asami responded, seemingly stunned. “I, uh, I… Um?”

Her ears were burning. Whole face soon followed. Couldn't meet her eyes, turn her head to face the ceiling. The body might soon follow. “It's okay if you don't,” she dismissed, playing down the seriousness of the request. Looked like she'd just been out for fun, after all. “Just thought I'd ask since we've been doing this for a while. Thought you might… never mind. Just forget I said anything.”

It took about half a minute for the response. “Well-I mean, I'd love to, but…I'm getting transferred, soon. I don't know where I'm ending up, or when they're shipping me off in the first place.”

 _Yeah, sure, work's the problem._ “Don't worry about it. Like I said: just thought I'd ask,” Korra mumbled, completing the turn and throwing her legs off the edge of the bed. Looking at her seemed like a bad idea, at the moment. No telling what her reaction would be. Hurt. Anger. Tears. The best case scenario running through the Lieutenant's mind was that it was all a bad dream and that she'd wake up an hour late to revery. That or numbness. “Good luck with the whole work thing.”

A palm pressed into her back, right over where the nerves didn't work so well anymore, skin forever blistered by fiery metal. She even got a card to let her through airport security. “Korra…”

She hazarded a glance. To her surprise, all she felt was disappointment. The bottom didn't fall out of her world, tears don't bristle in her eyes. It's just a subdued, crestfallen sadness. And she made no attempts to hide it. Let it show, who cares? Likely wouldn't see each other again, anyways.

Actually, she'd make sure of it. Stick to the Officer's Club for a few months. Balance out the dry-spell to come with the cheap booze the dive provided.

“I should probably go,” Asami said once she caught sight of her host's face. Something like guilt replied to her. At least she felt something. That was a minor consolation prize. Didn't really help, though.

Korra nodded. “Yeah, you probably should.”

Suddenly, her nudity made her feel vulnerable. Exposed. Easy enough to pull the blanket up over herself, lean forward and clamp her legs together so all the fun bits were either covered or shrouded in shadow. Hadn't felt like that since… Her. The last time she'd felt jerked around. Only, this time, it was all on her.

Seeing things that weren't there. Making things complicated. Catching a bad case of 'the Feelings'. Never want to catch those. Never ended well for her.

It was near silent as Asami gathered her clothes, redressing for her walk of shame. Normally, there was some banter as they sorted though who's were who's, feigning confusion in the crappy lighting of some cheap motel. It had given the Lieutenant an opportunity to drag things out, chew over the question that had crashed and burned so bad this night.

Maybe three minutes later, and she was done, running fingers through her hair to calm it some. Nothing to keep her, now. Still, she paused at the door to look back. Was that regret in her face, or was the soldier just projecting again?

“Korra, I really am sorry,” the woman said, leaving before she got a reply.

With a swish of obsidian, she'd gone. The front door swung wide, but closed soft as her lips had been. Engine roared to life in the lot, headlights briefly through the window.

They were done.

Flopping back onto her bed, Korra wallowed in the aftermath. Her scent, their scent, was everywhere. Passion turned sour in her throat with every breath as her mistake sank in. “Yeah, me too,” she breathed, letting her eyes fall closed.

She knew she should strip the sheets, now. At the very least, take a cold shower. But rejection had taken her motivation away.

It could wait for tomorrow. For now, she would dream.

Little did she know, the last thought that floated through her mind as she made the transition was one that would come to be a common saying in the days yet to pass. Something of a mantra.

_Fuck my life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's the smut, onto the story!
> 
> If you just wanted the sin, hope you enjoyed that. Tell me what you thought of it, if you feel generous.
> 
> And now, a message from the editor.
> 
> JMStei: Ohhhhh boy. You'se are in for a treat with this one.


	2. Ch.1 Army Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day in the life of Lt. Korra Waters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how base security works, so I'm just guessing here. Be kind if you do know.

Wake up. Eyes wide, mind alert.

0500 hours.

The sun is still an hour or more away. No excuse for idleness. Still so much to do.

First part of her routine, hygiene. A clean soldier was a healthy soldier. Right now, she was nowhere close to clean. Her body reeked of stale sweat and last night's sex. That just wouldn't do.

Gather up her sheets and clothes to toss in the hamper. Turn on the water. Scalding, steaming. Toothpaste, minty on her brush. Soap and scrub. Focus on the good parts, don't linger on how it ended. Let the water wash over her, cleanse away filth and memory alike. For as much good as it would do.

Towel off, pull on her workout kit. Old grey shirt with Army printed on it in big black letters. Seams starting to fray. Stains of oil and grease that even industrial strength cleaners had failed to get out. Comfy sweatpants, who split their time equally between lounge wear and running gear. New socks and old Nike's finished off the set. Pop in her headphones and she was ready for part two: callisthenics.

Four miles, round trip. Skipped yesterday so an extra mile as punishment, but had an 'active night' so she could be a little lenient on the time. Set the timer on her phone for forty minutes. She'd earned an extra four.

Playlist thrums in her ears. Pink Floyd, Chili Peppers, and Queen. One of three to pick from. Today she just felt like some of Freddie Mercury's sweet crooning and steel guitar. The tempo helped her set the pace of each footfall. Lyrics kept her mind off how her rejection stung as she sang along in her head.

Roughly ten songs later and she was back. Back to pining. Tossing her sweat drench clothes in the hamper. Shower Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Into her uniform. Universal camouflage. Hell On Wheels emblazoned on her sleeve under a cannon and thunderbolt of the Armored Branch. Boots laced up, buttons fixed to regs. Tie up her hair in a tight bun. “Look Army, be Army.” That's what her father had told her when she headed off for basic, fixing her collar as he did so.

Third, breakfast. Check the pantry. Bread, moldy. Cereal, moths. Oatmeal it was then.

Put that on the burner and check the fridge for something to go with it. Bacon was blue, eggs were rotten, milk had gone to butter, butted had gone to cheese, cheese to mushroom farm. This is what she got for staying on base all the time. Good thing Naga was staying with her parents in Virginia or the poor girl would starve.

At least the coffee was still good. Junior officers lived on a diet of thin coffee and paperwork on deployment. The luxury of a hot breakfast at a decent hour had been a pleasant change upon getting back to the States.

Honestly, some days that field commission her old Brigade CO had wrangled for her felt more like a curse than a blessing. Sure the pay and benefits were better, but you paid for it with double the eyes on you, double the responsibilities, quadruple the forms to fill out, and ten times the bitching to listen to. One rivet goes missing from any of the four tanks in her platoon and her head ends up on the chopping block.

Staff Sergeant Korra didn't have to deal with this shit. All she had to do was command her tank, not blow up the wrong thing, and follow her orders. It had been a simple life with simple problems.

Nothing sense crying about, now. What was done, was done. She just had to make the best of it.

Wolf down oatmeal while it's still hot enough to scald her tongue. Wash it down with coffee, which does not help the whole 'burns in my mouth' situation. Pop in an ice cube in to help with that.

Grab her keys and out the door. Can't be late for paperwork.

Lock the door behind her and into her car she climbs. The old Camero her Pops had given her as a sixteenth birthday present. It had gone with her to every unit and station she had been juggled round to over the years. Her one constant possession larger than the box it had come in. And, for the last six years, it had ferried her to as many parties and bars as she could accommodate into her schedule.

Looking to the right, she imagined someone sitting there. Still a certain someone, no matter how hard she tried to make the face fade. “Fuck my life,” Korra sighed, turning the ignition. Grinding under the hood. Still had to get the starter fixed.

Nothing good on the radio. Tune in and tune out to NPR. At least there's Dave Mattingly, the man with the best voice in morning radio.

The drive is short and featureless. Rows of houses built in the fifties and sixties, apartments and shopfronts from the seventies. A touch of construction, here and there, the beginnings of gentrification. Even here, the times, they were a' changin'.

At the front gate she flashes her ID, receiving a salute from the MP on duty. He waves her through and she starts winding her way through the checkerboard streets. Her unit was billeted on the far end of the complex with the rest of the heavy armor. Closest to the rail lines, airfield, and training grounds. Farthest from the family housing and schools. Cut down on the noise pollution and road damage.

That and made it a little bit harder for the local teenagers to cause trouble.

Made the commute a bit of a pain, though.

Getting through the second line of checkpoints took longer. They took her card and scanned it. Checked her file on the computer. New procedure after a few bad screw ups last year with forged papers. Only took a couple minutes, but it felt like forever. This was why she stayed on station whenever she could. Probably would for a long while now that things with 'her' had gone to shit. _I can't even_ **_think_ ** _her name_ , she marveled, shaking her head. _Damn. This is why I don't ask the stupid questions. One night, means 'One Night'._

Waved through, again. Off to Battalion HQ to check in and get her assignments. She already knew that she'd drawn duty officer for Baker, today. Again.

Oh, joy.

More paperwork. More bitching. More tedious bullshit to deal with that wasn't to do with her lovely hunk of steel, ceramic, circuitry, and depleted-uranium. If they made her change track linkages and suspension bar all day, that would be one thing. Korra could do busy work with her hands. She was good at it. But all the figures and red tape, fuck it!

At least it would numb her brain with boredom

Pull in, brush the few wrinkles out of her jacket. CO was dressing her down for just about anything, these days. No point making it easy for her.

Return the salute from the sergeant at the desk. Take a left and up the stairs. Pop on her cap, held to this point under her arm. Single silver bar marks her rank. Still shiny and new from her most recent promotion, even if her post hadn't changed.

As the Lieutenant walks down the corridor, she prays that the Company staff have shown up. Check her watch: 0643.

No way.

The Captain doesn't like to get up before 0700, at the very earliest. To see him before 0730 is a miracle, and then it's generally in the Mess. That means she'll be dealing with the Colonel. This week just keeps getting better and better. With a sigh, she decides to just suck up the pain and deal with it. If things got too bad, she could always pull out the last ditch emergency plan: retreat into the Chaplain's office until the screaming stopped.

Never gotten to that point, so far. But, you never know.

There's a Captain at the desk outside, this morning. New to her, but still with a weariness about him that showed he'd been there for a decent while. At least, long enough to draw the ire of the woman in the office behind him.

Lt. Colonel Lin Beifong hadn't won her title of 'Sternest Woman in the Army' without reason. And she seemed to wear the title with pride and accomplishment. According to her, she ran the most well oil armored outfit in the entire Corps, and if you were measuring by motes of dust per square inch, you might have a leg to stand on there.

“Good morning, Sir,” Korra greeted, snapping the clerk a salute.

“Morning, Lieutenant. How can I help you?” the man returned, replying her gesture and signaling her to be at ease.

“Here to receive my orders, sir,” the tanker replied, relaxing easily into a more casual stance. Her body had never dealt with the rigors of standing still for very long.

“Duty officer?”

“Yes, sir. Bravo Company, Lieutenant Waters.”

The man's eyes bulged slightly. In that moment, she knew she was screwed, and not in a pleasant way this time. “Yes, well, Lieutenant. The Colonel said she wanted to speak with you as soon as you got here,” the man said, briefly making to stand before thinking better of it. His hand rested on the receiver of his phone, lifting it so the tone could start. “I'll tell her you're in.”

 _Fuck. My. Life_.

“Thank you, sir.”

Korra slumped. So much for quietly sneaking off. Happiness and the Army must really hate her, for some reason.

Captain (just check his tag, huh, weird name) Nemo conversed on the phone, emotionless mask on his face. “Hello, Colonel? Lieu… Yes, Ma'am… Of course, Ma'am… Shall I… Yes… Yes, Ma'am, I understand, perfectly.” Hanging up the phone, the man looks up at her, a little more of the hope and joy drained from his face. “Go on in. She'll see you now.”

“Thank you, sir.” She gives him a sympathetic smile and goes to the door.

To call the Colonel's office spartan would be an insult to the Spartans. Barren and hostile would be more apt descriptors. No furnishings adorned the walls of a personal nature. Strictly Army. Stars and Stripes on it's pole behind her desk, alongside a replica of the Regimental Standard. The genuine article was with 1st Battalion, out in Fort Bliss, but the Colonel insisted on having it on display, at all times.

Single picture on her desk, the woman herself shaking hands with the CoC. It had been the third smile she had ever seen on those thin lips, in person. Some remark Mrs. Clinton had made out of Korra's earshot. Never would she learn it, as never would she ask.

“Waters,” her CO remarked, snappishly, same mix of contempt and mild loathing that the platoon lead was always treated to whenever her name was mentioned.

“Colonel Beifong, Ma'am!”

Snap the same salute she always does. So textbook you could accuse her for cheating. Eyes straight ahead, neck stiff, shoulders back, chest out. The muscles in her arm are so taut she fears they might tear.

“You wished to see me, Ma'am!”

“That I did,” her senior said, not bothering to look up from her paperwork. Must be some really interesting signatures she had going on, there. Probably ordering none of her subordinates pet any cute animals they came across, lest they get hair on their uniform. Or maybe she'd finally found a way to boot Korra out of her battalion, or the Army entirely. It seemed to have been her goal, of late. “You are five minutes late to your shift, Lieutenant, explain.”

Not a question. A solid statement.

_At least let me. “At Ease”, lady. For fuck's sake!_

“Car trouble, Ma'am,” said the tanker. It would pass board, even if she checked the engine. The starting system was being held together by a jerry-rigged tangle of wires and connectors.

“I don't want your excuses, Waters,” Beifong sneers, at last lifting her head to glower at her subordinate.

It took all the Lieutenant's self-control not to return the look. _Then why the fuck did you ask for one, you stuck-up bitch,_ she wanted to retort. Tear into the Iron Lady and that fucking chip on her shoulder. If she could out her hands on on person in this woman's Army, it would be the one across that desk. _Return my salute, you ass!_

With the laziest possible flick of her wrist, the Colonel obliges. “I hear you've transferred **_another_ ** driver from your unit, Waters, is that true?” she asks, drumming her fingers on the weathered oak.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“From your own tank?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Let's see,” she thumbs through some documents on her desk, “That makes six, since you got your command. Two in the last five weeks.” Sliding the files aside, the scarred veteran returned her harsh gaze to Korra's face. “For the love of god, do you think the Army is made out of Abrams drivers?!”

“No, Ma'am, I do not.” _Bite me._

Wrapping her finger on the edge of her desk like others would a pen, the LC stared her down. The Lieutenant didn't give her an inch. They'd played this game too many times to be fazed by such a weak attempt. “Don't you sass me.”

 _Kiss my ass._ “Apologies, Ma'am.”

“So, why did you transfer him, huh? Personal differences like the rest?” she accused, despite Korra never shifting a soul for such a purpose. Ticking 'unspecified' just allowed her to shift someone around without it going on their record as disciplinary action. She hadn't even given the latest screw up the luxury.

“Public Drunkenness, Intoxication in Uniform, Conduct Unbecoming,” the Lieutenant listed from memory, cursing the woman for never reading her reports past her name, “and Destruction of Army Property.” It had been quite the scene, if she was honest. Crazy bastard got off his head on jungle juice he'd made in his secret still, hopped into a Humvee and decided to take a joy ride. Straight into the side of the depot. Got a grand total of ten feet before he passed out. After doing about fifty-thousand in damage to the vic and building.

_How have you not heard about this? Captain Baker knows about it, and his standing orders are “don't tell me anything, I don't want to know”._

Without missing a beat, the counter presents itself. “Finally running a tight ship, I see.”

She actually had to bit her lip on that one. Threatening to kill one's superiors in their sleep was somewhat frowned upon. Four years, three tours of duty, and as many promotions they had known each other for. This was the first and **only** time someone had pulled something like this on her watch. She might be friendly, but she wasn't lax.

“Well, I expect you to keep that up,” the Colonel told her, standing at last. A folder in her hand. Personnel record. Bitch had read her report, after all. “ **This** is your replacement.”

No sooner had she taken the documents and tucked them under her arm had Beifong turned her attention away. Korra's feet hurt from standing in this one spot, no leeway to shift and circulate blood-flow to her toes. Only part of the Army life she couldn't stand was Attention.

A finger pressed down on the intercom button on the phone. First a buzz, then a soft click. “Nemo, send in the Sergeant.”

Sergeant? Why was she getting a Sergeant? Her last five drivers had been Pfc's and Corporals. Probably some old hardass, pissed off they couldn't get a bump up to squad lead. A new headache for her to handle.

The door swings wide behind her. Parade turn, right. Not authorized, but fuck it. If she's not allowed to turn and look at a door, there'll be some extra paperwork to do. Rumor has it the 3rd Cav was short on officers. Pretty good place to set up shop, even if she had to retrain Bradley's to do it. Supposedly, their CO handed out two-week passes like Halloween candy. Could finally go visit the old man and mom. They'd moved since she'd last seen them. Be nice to do that before Christmas.

Even amidst this train of thought, wistful fantasizing about a world without Lt Col. Thatcher and her world of stupid rules that only apply to one person, Korra had enough awareness to recognize faces. And, oh, what a face to recognize.

Long lashes framing the most stunning green eyes that had ever stared at her from across a room, or from between her legs. Long mane of movie-star black hair, all curl and bounce, done up in a tight bun, restrained by ties and cap. Plump lips, free of their glossy coating, but still so soft and kissable looking. Her stunned mind could taste them as she struggled not to go bug-eyed and scream, in rage or shock or hurt, she wasn't sure.

_What the FUUUCK!?!?!_

“Sergeant Asami Sato, reporting for duty, Ma'am!” Last night's lover snaps to salute, just as textbook as she had done. She looks the perfect soldier.

Jerkily, Korra returns the gesture. It boggles the mind, just how much the universe hates her. Dangle something so tantalizing as someone she wants to spend time with, right in front of her, only to rip it away and laugh in her face.

Korra didn't feel like laughing. She didn't like being made a fool of by pretty Sergeants who should know better.

“Do you two know each other?” the CO inquires. The shock she felt must've momentarily shown. Given the harpy something to try and dig her claws in.

“No, Ma'am,” Asami, no, Sgt. Sato replies for her. Their eyes meet for a moment and Korra tries to force through as much of her rage as humanly possible in the tiny window. Problem was, would the wrong one of them catch sight of it? “Just seen each other around base.”

Attention back on her. “Then, do you have a problem with my choice, Lieutenant?” Can feel the Colonel's eyes, searching for any little sign of weakness. Of insubordination or rebellion. Of opinion not her own. Any sign she's bucking the system. An excuse, just one excuse to send the tanker packing, for good. “I asked you a question, Waters.”

“No, Ma'am,” the one-bar said, returning her gaze to a more simmering loathing. A low enough bubble that Beifong would assume it was for her. “No problem at all.”

“Excellent. At ease.”

Finally, she gets to relax. Stand to, and relax. Cross her arms behind her back, set her feet at shoulder distance and slowly roll her ankles in her boots. Sweet circulation helped temper her anger. That is, until she flicked her eyes to the Sgt's face. Her eyes flitted about, looking anywhere but at her.

There was some shame, at least. Not that it would save her from the holy hell that would be leveled at her, the very instant they were alone.

Stupid.

Reckless.

Irresponsible.

Thrill-seeking.

Career-ending.

All described that woman's decision. For both of them. No faster way to get drummed out of the service than to be caught sleeping with the 'other side'. As if it wasn't hard enough being a woman in a combat unit. An openly gay one, at that. That nightmare of hazing, teasing, and shunning. She'd go down swinging if it came to that, and be damn sure she took the Sergeant who stole the only life she knew away from her along for the ride.

“Here are your assignments, Lieutenant. I expect them on my desk by 1900 hours, understood.” In her hands were deposited enough Company paperwork for two days and three people.

“You'll have it by 1800, Ma'am,” Korra promised, giving another salute, nearly dropping half the stack while doing so.

No harsh retort at that. Just impassivity. The best she could hope for, really. “Outstanding. Dismissed.”

The Lieutenant spins on her heels, leading the way out the door, her new crewmate one full step behind. The oppressive atmosphere dissipates as soon as they return to the waiting area. Replacing it, the Captain's miserable aura. Even more downtrodden than before. Face in his hands, questioning every life decision that had led him up to this point.

If she was honest, weren't she so furious, Korra would be doing something similar. Reflecting back on nights she now wished had never happened. Chewing over all the little tells that had been there, had she only bothered to look.

“Sir,” the Lieutenant said, grabbing the brim of her cap in a half salute.

The desk clerk did the same, dismissing them with a halfhearted, “Best of luck.” If only he knew how much better his day was going than hers.

“Thank you, Sir,” both women echoed in unison.

Back down the corridor. Searching for a spare room to divert them into. Padre was in, now. He probably wouldn't appreciate the blue language she was likely to use. Captain Baker still hadn't decided to drag his ass out of his rack, though. That would work.

“In here,” she simmered, gripping the knob so hard it threatened to break. Cheap ass Army doors.

“Guess we should have a talk,” Asa-Sgt. Sato hummed, far to friendly for the severity of the situation the now found themselves in. Did she think they were friends? After what had happened last night, what had happened this morning? She was even loitering after receiving an order.

“Now, Sergeant!” the LT snapped, taking on an air far too like her CO for her taste.

Green eyes go wide with shock for the first time. Another strike against her. _Don't know where you're getting transferred, my ass. You expected this._ “Yes, Ma'am,” the woman who had taken over her thoughts obeyed, lowering her gaze to the floor. Counting linoleum squares to avoid meeting Korra's eyes. “Right away.”

Slam the door behind them. Everyone heard that. All but two would ascribe it to the Colonel. “At attention!” the tanker demanded in a low hiss. Wait for her to do that, snap taut, straight as a board. “What the actual fuck is your problem, Sergeant?!”

“With what, Ma'am?”

Clench her fist to keep from pulling her hair out. “Don't you try to be cute with me,” Korra spat, glaring daggers at the driver. “I'm having none of that shit until you give me a damn good explanation for that crap you've been pulling on me for the past two months. So. Start. Talking. And make it good.”

A flash of that chip on her shoulder in her eyes. “I haven't been **pulling** anything, Ma'am.” Eyes narrow, lips grow thin. Going on the defensive. “You came onto me, or don't you remember?”

“That's because I didn't know you were an enlisted,” the officer pointed out in a slightly hushed version of her usual fire. Didn't like dressing down people at the best of times, but it was a lot harder when she had to sound menacing, while also not drawing the attention of the Colonel. Came off like she was scolding her child in a movie theater. A hoarse whisper, rather than a sharp bark. “Information you were not so quick to provide, might I add.”

The Sergeant matched her volume, though with a more subordinate tone, if only slightly. If their experience outside this strict sphere had taught Korra anything about the woman, it was that she enjoyed bucking those with authority. “Full disclosure, Lieutenant, you didn't tell me you were an officer at that block party, either.”

“That is not the point. Don't go trying to spin this 'round on my head, Sgt. Sato, I guarantee it won't end well for you,” the combat veteran warned. That sass that had vexed her so one way, now did so in a far less enjoyable manner. Who knew what she'd found so sexy last night would make her want to froth in the morn? “You failed to properly inform me of your rank. A lie by omission is still a lie, I think you'll find.”

“I know that, Ma'am,” Asami acknowledged, rocking back a little on her heels. Mild concern at best. “I also know that drinking while in uniform is strictly prohibited by regulation-”

“Do NOT quote regulations at me, Sergeant!” last night's host ordered, almost flabbergasted by the boldness on display. Basically, a threat of retaliation. Not in as many words, but the intent was clear. Make Korra's moral character seem to be in greater question than her own it came to fight.

Mutually Assured Destruction.

The platoon leader's story would already be suspect, even under the kindest eye. Add to it even the most minor violation of Army Code and Conduct and her career would be effectively finished. Best case scenario would become reassignment, likely with a demotion.

Worst case, well…

The CO had been looking for a way to get rid of her.

Silence reigned. The watchful king. Observing every miniscule gesture. Each flick of their eyes and change in their breath.

“Are you going to report me, Ma'am?”

Lock eyes with those emeralds she had fallen for. Feel something soft for half a second. Crush it. “No,” Korra replied. Deep breath. “Any leave you have planned for this week, forget it. You will confine yourself to quarters when not on duty, understood?”

“On what grounds, Ma'am?”

“That smart mouth of yours,” the reply, cold and humorless. “Lose that, are we clear? We will have to work together, and I will not have you back talking me. If I give you an order, you will follow it. No questions, no witty comebacks.”

“Understood, Ma'am,” the NCO said, snapping a passive-aggressive salute. So rigid and serious it was comical. Korra wasn't laughing. “Any further orders?”

Eyes flick to the chain around the woman's neck. The one that would have saved her this headache, and the pain of rejection and undone hope before it. “Yes. You are to wear your tags at all times,” the Lieutenant ordered, holding her own out as visual aid. “On base, off base, on duty, in the mess, in the shower, I don't care. If I **ever** see you without them, if I even **hear** about you not wearing them, I will write you up myself. And your head will go on my wall, understand, soldier.”

“Perfectly.”

Heart pangs at the near hateful look she's getting from the woman in front of her. Even under the anger, there's still that longing. Ill-placed attachment and fondness. Have to shake that fast. If only to treat her like all the others.

“Great, grab your gear and follow me. Depot B, 2-58, on the double.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Out the door, smooth out the wrinkles in her uniform. Don't meet the Captain Baker's eye as he goes passed, waving in his usual hungover state. Just salute and keep on walking. Bid goodbye to the Sergeant, greet the morning sun with a scowl. _Fuck you, sun! Where do you get off being all happy and bright?!_

Jet black Ford parked right next to her Camaro. Resist the urge to put her fist through the windshield, rip out the passenger seat, and burn it with avgas.

Wait until she's strapped in. Engine humming, pulling ahead of their convoy of two. No one will hear her, now. No one will see as she smashes her fist into the dash, over and over and over again. With every blow, a single word. One of three on a loop.

“Fuck.”

“My.”

“Life.” Her hand hurts.

“Fuck! My! Life!” Something cracks.

“FUCK! MY! LIFE!” Great, now the radio's busted, too. And she might have just broken a finger. Hurts like a bitch, but the swelling wasn't bad.

 _Fuck my life_ , she sighs in her head, leaning back in her seat, wounded fist cradled close to her chest. This was going to be a rough few weeks. Even tougher if she had to explain a broken bone.

Maybe 3rd Cav wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's that. Should be infrequently updated until I finish my other work, then pick up. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I love comments, so please leave your thoughts.
> 
> JMStei: I told you this was going to be a good one.


	3. Home, Sweet Hanger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions are made, and Korra starts to suffer through the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! No fluff this chapter, again, I'm afraid. But, it should only be a few chapters until we're back on the Korrasami train.
> 
> As always, if I've made some grievous error in the facts here, please tell me. I know the discipline level I've got going in this chapter is rather low, so take it as my artistic license to make the gang seem more tight knit.

A ten minute drive turned itself into twenty. It was all hustle and bustle these days. That meant moving heavy equipment about like driers when a Sears shuttered its doors. Everything must go. Which lead to traffic jams, massive movers and armor plated beasts snarling as every intersection, drivers of each insisting they had the right of way. This draws the ire of your Company Sergeants, fire and brimstone, ordering everyone in sight to, “Get your ass in gear!”

Keep your head down and keep driving.

Last person she wants to deal with, at the moment, (or, second to last) was a grizzled senior NCO with an axe to grind. No one would be safe from their volcanic wrath. Not even someone who'd traded their stripes for bars.

Her hand still hurt, less that before, but throbbing away just the same. Holding the bruised flesh against the ac vent helped in a moderate way. The swelling had, thankfully, remained minimal. No trip to the infirmary, today. No army doctors poking her with needles or sensors, just yet. No nurses pumping the blood-pressure cuff three-times past tight enough. No bleach soaked floors and sterile white walls, white everything.

 _Thank god for small miracles,_ she thought, swerving wide passed a stalled out HEMTT. Poor round-faced private standing stiff as a board while spit and venom flew in his direction. “What do you mean 'you forgot to get gas'?!” his sergeant screamed, twice as animated as all the others had been. Enjoying himself, or just a sadist.

A coin flip, really.

Not that it was her problem, either way.

Besides, jogging up the road, already, was a fresh, young 2nd Lieutenant, who looked like he was straight out of OCS. All shiny and new. Eager to poke his nose in to where it didn't belong.

At last, the armored depots. Rows of warehouse billets. Sleeping quarters for titans, workplace of those that appeased them. Home stretch. 2-27, neighbors and comrades. The infantry heavy battalion of the brigade. Zippy little APC's were getting a tuneup by the sound of things. To think she used to marvel at them growing up. Thinking them the pinnacle of mechanical might, begging her father for a chance to ride in one.

Ah, sweet nostalgia. For a time when nothing was complicated.

By Charlie, their own grunts and foot-sloggers. CO had them out doing drill, again. Pushups, situps, lunges. Next up, two mile run, double quick. Whipping his boys and girls into shape after too long on the bench. Knock off the rust, get ready for war.

At last, home. Depot B, 2-58. Tall walls of Army gray and tan. Great stretches of paint had peeled away, leaving the sheet steel underneath exposed to the elements. Luckily, the Colonel hadn't ordered them to fix that, yet. So much else to worry about in her life, without the hassle of organizing a detail for that unwanted task.

Swerve wide of the pothole of doom. Cruise along until she saw her ex-lover pull in behind. Easy enough to park. Spaces along the side were mostly empty of cars. It was Sunday, after all. Not everyone pulled weekend duty.

Not everyone was hated at Battalion, for no good reason.

Not everyone had a Captain Hardass.

What she did have was a mountain of paperwork and a headache the size of Nebraska. Headache in matching fatigues. She pulls up alongside, stares straight ahead at the wall for a moment, finishing whatever spiteful rant or pep talk she was on before joining Korra in the growing sunlight.

Clouds billow on the horizon over her shoulder. Black columns of a coming storm. _60% chance of rain, my ass._

Paperwork swiftly gathered under her left arm, the officer nods back towards the nearest door, “This way.” Have to hurry before the rain hits. Only thing worse than being miffed, was being miffed and soaked.

A subdued, “Yes, Ma'am.” Lifeless and cold words. Nothing like the passion that had been imbued in them just hours before. Blank face, angry eyes. The green seemed a shade darker, maybe two. Full lips, thin and tight, lacking even a trace of elastic smiles and laughter she was used to. Lock step, perfectly matching her own, heavy bag on her shoulder. Tugs her cap tight as the wind begins to build, whipping up fallen leaves from the Lonely Oak. It's branches creaked and yawed, whipping violently as the shifts of the tankers mood.

Professional, personal. Anger, compassion. Indignance at the lie, wounded pride of rejection and doomed feelings.

Army code, her own feelings.

What she knew, the rules that had driven her entire life, warring against what she wanted.

In an ideal world, everything would work out. Their ire would become just a vague memory. A bump on the road of life. Something to laugh about around the water cooler of a reunion some decades to come. When they were all gray and weary, wishing for youth's sweetness to return.

Too bad this world was far from ideal.

_Fuck my life..._

A twinge in her back as the LT pushed open the door. Voices called out, one by one, as heads turned to see the newcomers. “Morning, Lieutenant!” from the Pfc's closest to her, looking up from the M2 they were in the process of assembling after stripping it down. Why it was here, and not in the armory, was beyond her. Have to give supply a call. Make sure they hadn't snuck it.

“Morning, Ma'am!” from Sgt. Reyes, hefting a worn down grouser into the stack of same.

A cross channel lilt from a pair of boots stick out the ass of the nearest M1. “Mornin', Ma'am,” said a thick Dubliner accent, drawing out the 'a' to about half again it's normal length, only slightly muffled by sixty tons of steel between them.

“Irish, you'd better be saluting under there!” came the platoon sergeant's call, poking her head from the hatch of her own machine. Smear of grease on the opposite cheek of her little mole. Brown hair tied up almost as tight as the Colonel's, if that was even possible, moss-green eyes bright with mischief. “If you're not, I'm gonna boot you right back cross the pond!”

“Aye, Sarge, I'm salutin' with one hand and spreading grease with the other two,” he shot back without missing a beat, reveling in his innuendo whilst continuing his maintenance. “Just like ya' taught me!”

“What was that, Irish?” Kuvira barks with a chuckle.

“Nothin', Ma'am,” the redhead returns, hand scrabbling for his wrench. “My apologies!”

Theirs was an odd game, just skirting what even Korra would accept. Barbs shot up and down. Tip-toeing on the knife edge between respectful, friendly banter between close knit tankers and insubordinate insults. Tending towards the later, if she was honest.

When their eyes met, her old running buddy flashed a toothy grin. “And good morning to you, boss lady,” Sfc. Steel greets, worming her way out of the hatch to sit atop her beast, Bastet. In her hand she hefts the radio receiver, pulled from its mountings for whatever reason. Probably the gremlins. There'd been an outbreak of the little bastards, lately, and most everything electrical was on the fritz.

They exchange swift salutes, just in case someone was poking their head in. Someone Colonely.

“What's with the shadow?” her friend asks, nodding at the stern faced Asami, standing dourly on her 4 o'clock. “This some kind of new Army gimmick I haven't got the memo for. 'All Lieutenant's must be followed, at all times, by someone who looks like they want put their fist through the nearest wall'.”

Gritting her teeth slightly, Korra tried her best to ignore the truth behind the joke. “This is-”

“Sergeant Sato, Ma'am,” last night's dance partner replies for herself, quite deliberately, it seems, stepping on her CO's toes. Another thing to set her jaw to work, wearing her way to early dentures. “Just transferred from 1-68.”

Flashing her eyes to the LT and back, the senior NCO tried to gauge if she should scold the woman for the interruption. Generally, they were a little fast and loose when it came to newbies. Let them ease into the way things worked. “Welcome to the circus, Sergeant,” Kuvira greets, picking up on the slight sideways flick of her fellow veteran’s chin.

_I'll take care of it._

A little shrug. _If you insist._

Another round of salutes were exchanged, followed by a firm handshake. A few muttered words between stripes. The usual fare. “Pleasure meeting you, we'll get along fine. Keep your head down...” Blah, blah, blah. Empty chat to break the ice. Help them get the measure of each other.

“I take it she's your problem?” Steel deduces once the pleasantries have been dealt with.

“That she is.” _In more ways than one._ Scan the room, search for her tank. Looks like everyone had been shuffled around while she was away. “Taking Shifty's place.”

A little noise of surprise. “Really? Not old cheer and chiseled chins?”

“No, he's still with us,” Korra hums, feeling a deal of sympathy for her gunner. Stuck, seemingly forever, in his hellish limbo. Eager and ready for a transfer, yet nowhere to go. A Staff Sergeant, delegated to a Sergeant's job, with no hope for a transfer or a tank of his own any time soon.

Well, that's what he got for waiting til the last second, she supposed. At least Korra wasn't the only one who'd fucked up lately.

“What's the sitrep?”

Lifting the comm unit in her hands, Kuvira begins to relate the woes forced upon them by the day before. “Well, the old girl is Fubar. All the displays are out and half the fuses are blown, for some reason. Don't ask me why, 'cause I don't know. Battalion maintenance are on their way to fix her up. Let them figure it out,” she relates, pointing at the next vehicle in the line. “Blown torsion bar.” Next. “Grousers.” Next. “Lubricants.” Next “Track-tension and lubricants.” Next. “Not sure, but I think the oil is coming up.”

 _So, a light day, today. That's nice. Here I was expecting a total overhaul on half the company._ “Sounds good,” the duty officer notes, quickly scribbling the notes down on a paper she had an extra copy of in her desk. “Guess I'll leave you to it then.”

As she turns to slink off to the little annex in the corner, safe from intrusion, save for under the most unusual circumstances, a cough stops her. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

Ah, yes. Further introductions needed to be made.

“With me, Sergeant,” Korra calls, making her best beeline for her tank, only slightly detoured by the wanton clutter. It didn't help that hers had been shunted off the side once her checkup had been finished, furthest of her scattered platoon. She seemed to be mostly intact, though. Engine covers closed, brackets for the TUSK kit secured in place, turret locked in the stowage position, sleeve covering the end of the gun-barrel.

_Did you miss me, girl? 'Cause mama missed you._

To her right, the replacement let her eyes wander for the first time. Anywhere but at her. She ganders at the silent beasts, docile in their slumber. Recognition flashes in her eyes, every once in a while. When she flits over a tool, an open panel, the stray bit of gear. And at the general ordered disorder of the place.

The standard state of a Company service depot. Somewhere between the drab, almost depressing state of the storage yard, and the mad hustle of Battalion repair. Just enough equipment for the standard maintenance, not enough for a full overhaul.

Clearing her throat, Korra came to a halt just short of their end goal. Breathe deep and prepare to be a CO. To be the bad-guy, again. To be Lieutenant Waters, not dumb, lovestruck Korra, with her heart in her throat. The one who doesn't bother to ask questions before catching feelings. _Drop it! You've got work to do._ “Sergeant, I don't take kindly to being interrupted. When I am speaking, you are listening, understood?”

“Apologies, Ma'am.” The way she says it makes the officer's spine tingle. So formal, yet so cutting. Something about how she said _Ma'am_. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Can't think of a way to reply. Just nod and accept. Accept that trying to act properly around this woman is going to be a hell of a lot harder than first thought. Likely impossible until liberal amounts of alcohol could be consumed. Maybe work out some frustration at the rec yard, punch something. Like a wall or two. Scream into a few pillows. Knock off a couple hundred rounds at the shooting range, if they’d let her.

Typical therapy stuff.

Instead, just gesture towards her baby. Sweet, beautiful, innocent Raava. The only woman who would never break her heart.

“Excellent,” says she, debating whether to give the same spiel she had given her last few chauffeurs. Not that it had ever worked before. Two couldn't take the pressure and asked to be transferred, one chose not to re-up their enlistment, and one was currently on the way to detention. _Fuck it, in for a penny…_ “This,” she pats the side of her Cadillac, “is Raava. She is sixty-tons of-”

“Hey, LT, is that you?” a muffled voice calls from up top, distracting from the train of thought.

_Fuck my life. Why didn't I check the duty roster this morning?_

Cold, green eyes bore into hers. An amused twitch on her pretty lips, surrounded by stern blankness.

_Oh, now I remember._

“Hah, yeah, Bo, it's me,” the TC calls back, breaking the contact, simultaneously miffed and relieved she had been interrupted. It wasn't a particularly good speech, or particularly original. Mostly stolen lines and cliché.

Sound of clattering. Falling tools, her guess. Pinging around the turret basket. Getting lost amid the various nooks and crannies, only to bounce out when at speed to bean people upside the head. Or got eaten by the turret monster, whichever came first. “Can, uh, can you give me a hand in here, real quick?” her loader asks, still not bothering to show the respect of coming up top and addressing her properly.

“At attention,” Korra snaps, preemptively tensing for the dong of his head on the turret roof.

And wait…

And wait…

Nothing. Until a voice calls out from over her head. “At attention, Ma'am,” the loader announces in a bright, unworried tone. When she blinked, Korra could see the smile on his face. Ever happy, ever cheerful, save if he's actively getting chewed out for something.

“Get down here, Corporal,” Korra tells him, almost immediately softening in the, well not face, but aura of his positivity.

“On the double quick, Ma'am,” he obliges, probably giving one of his goofy over-exaggerated salutes, judging by the growing grin on Asami's face. No one could resist the Joker's antics.

'Cept the Colonel.

And 1st Sgt. Roberts.

And that one dickhead over in supply. What was his name? The one with the soup-strainer mustache. How he managed to get away with that thing… Looked like a freaking caterpillar. God damn pedo 'stache.

_Focus!_

Yes, brain!

Blink the fog her not so restful night had left her with. Gauge his progress in the Sergeant's eyes. Watch her watching him. Gorgeous green…

Her **eyes**. Normal, plain, everyday eyes follow his ascent, and subsequent descent. Swift, mercifully swift. Add a much needed third wheel to their proceedings. Someone to take Korra's mind off the hateful tinge that lay just beneath the surface when those eyes shifted their gaze back to her. Give her someone to shift the woman off to so she could retreat to her office for the rest of the day with her paperwork.

Never thought she'd see the day when she was looking forward to signing her name a thousand times.

 _Don't worry. It's half-price margarita night at the O-Club. Can go there and get toasted after I'm done._ That means cheap tequila and noisy place to fill her mind with raucous jubilation as the Brigade got ready to ship off. Shame she wouldn't be able to get her kit off. That was going to take more than cheap booze to solve.

“Oof,” the youngest, she thought, of her crew exclaims as he took the last few feet in a very non-regulation way. Luckily, he still shriveled under the withering glare shot his way by the duty-officer. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Salutes all around, damn she was getting tired of that.

“Cpl Stone, meet Sgt Sato,” Korra introduces, without interruption this time, while she gestures between them. “And vice versa. The Sergeant here will be taking over from Shifty, effective immediately. I'll need you to give her the tour, explain how things work around here, all the good stuff. Got that?”

He doesn't answer immediately. No, he does what every man has done since they walked in. Takes himself a look at the new girl. From top, to bottom, and back.

At least he has the good decency to shake his head halfway through, likely mentally scolding himself for letting his eyes wander. Blush when their eyes met, again. Never been great with girls, their little Joker. Always got choked up when he tried talking to one for the first time.

Not that his awkwardness excused him from the thin lipped scowl the LT sent his way, or the internal grumbling tirade in her head. For looking at… not her girl… like that.

Might go for the liquid lunch, today.

“Uh, yes, Ma'am,” the loader nods, keeping with his pattern of awkward stuttering. He blink furiously, shakes his head again, and manages to get his tongue back into working order. “Well, welcome to the team, I guess. Glad to have you!”

“I can see that,” Asami teases with a modicum of her usual snark, giving him a knowing smile that set him to shuffling like he would rather be anywhere else in the world in this moment.

A silence so thick you could cut it with a knife and use it a bouillon for soup. A triangle of shifting eyes that, somehow, managed to make the combat veteran feel more uncomfortable than when she came in. “So, yeah, the tour. Right!” Bo says, clapping his hands together to bring the moment to an end. “Where do we start?”

“Somewhere I can put my stuff would be a great start,” the new driver suggests, hefting her duffel off her left shoulder. Now, she gone back to ignoring her commander entirely, which surprised the tanker by actually improving her mood.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” the man accepts, turning to tip his cap at the TC. “Ma'am.”

“Corporal.”

“Ma'am.” With a lower, hostile growl, the woman mirrors the movement, earning herself another silent response.

They were on the fast track to a tense relationship, it seems. One where Korra would be getting the short end of the stick, all around. Having to put up with narrow looks and little jabs from below (and probably no small amount of behind her back bellyaching once the Sergeant got settled) with no option to go all out in response, and tiptoeing around Colonel Beifong's bloodhounds from above. And either party could end her career in a gout of flame.

Glorious.

Nothing for it at the moment but to knuckle down. Wait for the option to jump ship to arise, and seize upon it when it did.

For now, paperwork.

Heft the stack so it wasn't threatening to spill from it's binders. Turn and march to her glorified broom closet, and pray to whoever was up there, hating on her like the rest, that there were still earplugs in her desk.

There wouldn't be. Johnson would've taken them.

Again.

Left a little note apologizing, promising to replace them. _Fuck you, Jay! You've never replaced jack shit!_

Then, out of the corner of her eye, catch the arrival of the latecomer. The myth, the legend, the almost as miserable looking as her, for some reason, Staff Sergeant Mako Lee. Part two of the brotherly duos act she had going on in her tank. They had never spilled the ridiculous shenanigans that had allowed them to skirt the Sullivan rule. Though, Korra had suspicions it had something to do with their parents' divorce.

That, or they weren't actually brothers, and had just been dragging her along for the last few years. Either was possible.

The later more likely, seeing the Army's love of dipping into people's personal lives.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” her gunner says, looking over her shoulder at the back of the retreating pair. Even without looking, the officer could trace where those eyes of his were going. If only because she knew that angle from personal experience. Suddenly, Korra had the strongest urge in a long while to bust her fist on someone’s jaw.

_You, jackass. You’re engaged, the fuck are you looking at her ass for?_

She'd just have to settle for gnawing his head off.

Or, try to.

Before she'd even begun, he'd snapped to, face remaining just as sullen as before. “Do you have a reason for showing up and hour late for duty, Sergeant?” Korra demanded, with uncharacteristic harshness towards her longest term friend in the service. And, of course, just her luck, manages to make her feel like shit for doing so.

“No, Ma'am,” he replies, looking her dead in the eye with his best ' _my bad'_ expression. “It won't happen again, Ma'am.”

_Well, that warrants investigation._

In a lower, hushed voice, she leans in and asks, “The fuck happened to you? You look like shit, man.” And, indeed he did. Looked like she felt. Strung out and tired. A little nervous, and on the verge of depression.

“So do you,” he tosses back in her lap, making her wince.

Here she thought she'd done a half-decent job of covering that up. So much for that. “Cough up,” she insists, pushing the emphasis back onto him, “You've gotta tell me something or I'll have to write you up, you know that. Make something up if you have to, I don't care.”

In and out his breath goes. Teeth smell unbrushed, face has a night's worth of stubble he'll have to get rid of before folks starting coming round at about noon.

“Look, it was just one of those days, okay. I don't have an excuse.”

Give him the 'that's not good enough' look. “Just tell me. As a friend.”

Sighs, amber eyes dart around for eavesdroppers. “Me and Izuna had a fight last night,” he whispers so quietly it's hard to hear him. “I got back late, again, and she said she was tired of it. Kicked me out and threw my stuff out the door.” _Well, that qualifies you as almost tying the day I've had in terms of suck._ “I slept in my car and the phone died, so my alarm didn't go off. I'm sorry.” It shows. He's so crestfallen that his normal brooding looks like ecstasy in comparison. “Just give me the ding. God knows you've covered up for me enough, boss.”

Korra nods, accepting his proposal. She'd shave some time off, to be safe. Chalk it up to 'personal difficulties' on the report, withhold his leave for a couple days. Which might prove a blessing in disguise where Izuna was concerned. Poor woman was so overworked it made Korra's job seem enviable.

“Sounds good,” the Lieutenant says in almost as quiet a voice, taking a step back. “You good for the night?”

“Fine.”

_And, that's all I need to know._

Things would probably patch themselves up by the end of the day. Hopefully. If not, that just meant he'd back to on-base housing. So, either the barracks or the transient quarters if the army had managed to bungle that whole thing, again.

Either way, not her problem til it landed on her desk. Once it added to the stack, she'd worry about it.

And so, she waves him on so he could add himself to the workpool. Kuvira'd probably have him do the crap jobs of the day. All the heavy-lifting and dirty grease-spreading she normally saved for Irish and his big mouth. That would more than suffice for punishment, in her eyes. Not that the Captain would do any different. If anything, he'd insist on leniency. Loved a good sob story. Gave him something to tell the family that wasn't, _“And I did forms all day.”_

A sigh of her own as she managed the rest of the journey without interruption. Now, it was just her, her pen, and the Army bureaucracy.

Had to make her sacrifice to the bean-counter gods. Give them a health offering of black ink, lost time, and brow sweat to please their fickle tastes. Lest the cut off the fuel and ammunition she needed to get her job done, and dance with glee at her tears as they did so.

Debate.

Lock the door, don't lock the door.

No one ever bothered her, anyway. Just leave it as it was. If something happened, better to be able to help or yell quickly than be safe in her own little world.

That and the regs told her not to.

 _Alright, first page,_ she monologues, opening up the first, smallest folder of her pile.

A 201 personnel file. One with an all too familiar name scried at the top. Just learned, but dominating her thoughts, of late. Both the good, and the bad.

Flip it closed and shunt in to the side to open the next. Only to rethink the decision a moment later. Reach, withdraw, and reach again. Berate herself for being curious, but give into temptation, anyways. Open it up to page one and begin to skim.

“Fuck my life...”

It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some more angst, a brief introduction to some of the platoon, and Asami’s getting settled in. Next time, Korra drinks her sorrows away.
> 
> Glossary of terms: HEMTT: an Army truck  
> APC: armored personnel carrier, aka a battle taxi  
> OCS: officer candidate school  
> Cadillac: a term for a tank, I am told. APC’s were called Fords. Probably outdated, by now  
> Staff Sergeant: rank above Sergeant, squad leaders and tank commanders tend to have this rank  
> TC: tank-commander  
> TUSK: tank urban survival kit, extra armor fitted to the side and rear of Abrams to protect them  
> 201 file: your Army permanent record
> 
> JMStei: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN!!!
> 
> Humble: But not for long, I promise!


	4. Officer's Club Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korra “enjoys” a night of solo binge-drinking to help her get over Asami. It doesn't really work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get some insight into Kuvira's private life in this chapter, as well. I hope you can enjoy what I've done with her.

Tinkle, tinkle, ice in her glass, bouncing off the side.

Rum and cola glide down her throat to join the others she has drained this evening. Sweet like molasses, contrasting her usual taste for burning straight shots and gut-rotting cocktails. But, they were the cheapest thing going, tonight, and she was going for volume. There were concessions, of course. Had the bartender mix the last couple of them double strength to keep her buzz going. Keep memory and longing at bay for the night.

Dull country plays from the much abused jukebox in the corner as conversation whirls all around her. Korra's having none of it.

Every once in a while, someone will buck up the courage to come over and ask her for a dance, offer to buy a drink, or something of the like. A couple had even been so forward as to ask her to accompany them to 'somewhere more private' for a little fun. One, smoothly saying he was a Major at division HQ, probably offering folks promises he couldn't keep in exchange for rolls in the hay. The other, a pretty thing her own age, sandy-blonde hair and pretty blue eyes that betrayed that she was looking to try something new.

He'd gotten the death stare, and run off with his tail between his legs. She'd gotten a sad smile and a half-assed excuse.

Any other night and she'd have obliged the woman. Swept her off her feet and given her a night to remember, whilst adding another notch to her belt. But not today. Not in the mood she was in.

All it had taken was a single blink for her to imagine a different set of eyes, a different colored head. Long black silk and lips the color of pomegranate. Smile that set her heart on fire, lashes that put any Hollywood starlet's to shame. Curves for days, and legs that went on forever. Voice like velvet on her eardrums.

And when she laughed…

The whole room standing still, seconds hanging on each ringing note. Beautiful, just like the rest of her.

So, naturally, Korra had declined the oh-so-tempting offer to add another member to her team.

Hadn't left her completely high-and dry, though. Gingerly steering the fresh faced 2nd Lieutenant to a warm body to keep her warm in the far corner. Solid seven in the bedroom, attentive but straight vanilla. Perfect for a first-timer. Bridgette something-or-other, she thought. Couldn't remember. Been through a few other names since their turn in the sack.

_Asami…_

_Asami Sato…_

_A-sa-mi…_

_Still tastes sweeter..._

“Give us another, Charlie,” the platoon lead says, slurping the last of the caramel liquid from her glass.

The man hums, contemplatively. “You've had five already,” he replies, clearing away her last two drinks before moving to set a new one in front of her. “I'm cutting you off after this one. Don't care what kind of freak you are, I'm not having you killing yourself in my bar.”

“Okay, first,” the LT argues, holding up a finger, “it's not your bar, Charlie. It's the Army's bar.” Second finger. “You cut me off and we're gonna have us some problems, you and I. I ain't nowhere near as drunk as I'm gonna be by the end of the night. Been here more than two hours, already, and intend to be here 'til closing time.” Third finger. “And fuck you, I'm not a freak. It's everyone else who doesn't know how to hold their liquor.”

Big man freezes mid-pour, setting the Coke can down before staring Korra straight in the eye. “Listen here, kid: I don't give a damn what kind of shit you're going through, I tell you I'm cutting you off, that's final. Try to pick a fight with me, and I'll kick your ass so hard you'll have a tattoo of my boot-print to show off to the next person you fuck. Got it?”

Sigh. Too tired to fight him. Too miserable. Not drunk enough.

“Got it.”

And thus, she earns her last drink.

Sip it. Savor it. Make it last. Only had two beers back at her place to coast on until the liquor store opened tomorrow. That is, if she could get a ride off base. No guarantee of that this time of night. Most people had duty in the morning.

Look around a sea of faces. Young officers and old, mingling like comrades. It was times like these she briefly missed the all-ranks club at her last post. Just for that actual sense of oneness it had given her, at the time. Of course, looking back, she dreaded the idea. Especially given the circumstances. All fine to have casual chitchat with the enlisted and NCO's at the start of the night, but once lips got loose, there could only be problems.

That and the likelihood of ending up getting chummy with someone you shouldn't went through the roof once you had a couple drinks in you. Started to forget to ask the important questions. Like: “What unit are you from? What **rank** are you?”

You know, the questions you're supposed to ask every time you don't know.

The questions she should have asked.

Check her phone. Just curving past 2230.

Funny, it felt a lot later than that. Probably the lost thrill of searching the crowd for a face. For her. Looking despite herself. Wanting the chance to spend a wonderful night together.

_No more of those,_ she internally regrets, swirling the drink in her glass. Listen to the music of ice cubes. Try and make it replace the other song. The one that makes her blood boil, just thinking about it. Rhythmic sighs, in time with her own. Grunts, moans, curses, exclamations of joy. Tangled sheets sliding on each other, muted slap of skin on skin.

That slightly surprised sound she makes every time they first kiss.

“I'm getting old,” Korra decides, at a whim. Having trouble letting go was a sign of that, wasn't it? Getting broody, feeling the urge to settle down. For domesticity. For the same face to greet you every time you came home.

All her friends were getting old. Pairing off, one-by-one.

Kuvira had shocked the world (and become the first harbinger of the apocalypse) by getting hitched before anyone else. Whirlwind romance with a then architecture student. Married a couple months after he graduated. Surprised herself as much as anyone, by her own admission, with that one. Always claimed to have wanted the life of the forever bachelorette. Now, she was the same old firecracker, only with someone to send out Christmas cards with.

On a less bizarre note, Mako'd finally popped the question, some months back, to his long-time girlfriend, Izuna. A medical resident at the university hospital on the far side of town. Just as overworked as her man, barely seeing each other, at the best of times. Yet, somehow, they made it work.

Most of the time.

Further down the list you went, it was all just more of the same. Pretty much the entire old gang had either a partner or kids, were married or getting married, or simply moving on from the Army life entirely.

And here she was, spinning her wheels in the shittiest O-Club in the lower forty-eight, mourning her doomed love of a sassy Sergeant. Yep, that seemed about right, far as her luck was concerned. Always had the worst taste in women.

And the best.

“I really am getting old,” the LT repeats, taking a double sized sip of her rum.

“Oh, don't be like that,” a familiar voice says, its owner sliding onto the stool next to hers. Light-brown skin, sharp green eyes, and a mischief filled smile are spotted out of the corner of her eye. A leather jacket that matched one Korra had hanging in her closet draped on her shoulders, rare touch of make-up on her face.

_Must be date night._

“What're you doing here?” Korra asks, doing her damnedest not to make eye contact. This one had a queer habit of divining her thoughts when that happened. “This is the **Officer's** Club. Emphasis on the 'Officer'.”

“I could ask you the same question, you know,” Kuvira counters, giving a thumbs-up to Charlie, the rat bastard. With a swift hand, she grabs a napkin and begins to fold it. Over and over again as she crafts a perfect swan. “Do you want me to tell you, boss?”

Turn and blink at her with the ' _Not really, but you're going to do it anyways_ ' face on.

“ **You** ,” she points, really laying into the syllable, “are ruining the first night in about two-weeks that we've been able to get a sitter. I got all dressed up,” _Hardly. You wear that everywhere._ “Put on mascara, lipstick, the whole bit. Bataar even got reservations at that fancy new Italian place on Fifth Street.” That would explain the skin tight jeans and the faded Metallica tee. Clearly, she had to be dressed at the height of fashion for such an event. “It was gonna be great.”

“I'm sure.”

“Oh, you don't even know the half of it, sweetheart,” the platoon-sergeant continues, as if her sarcasm was just a sign to bowl over. “I was gonna get laid. **Laid** , Korra. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had sex?”

“No.” _But, I think I'm about to find out._

Her old friend holds up three fingers, continuing to finish her giraffe with the other hand. “Three weeks,” the woman shudders, utter despair on her face. “I went almost eight months, cold turkey. Pushed a tiny **human** out of my body. Had to deal with the aftermath of all that, and then the little monster takes up every minute of my twelve-weeks leave being a fucking baby.”

“Remind me, which of you wanted kids, again?”

Three fingers turn to one, shushing her in the politest way possible. “Listen, Ma'am,” Kuvira says, voice insisting and stern at the same time. Her eyes are half-crazed, staring a hole through the officers head. “I'm so pent up that if you shook me hard enough I'd pop like a bottle of champagne. Please, finish your drink, so's I can get myself off before I forget what it feels like to share a bed with my hubby, without playing rock-paper-scissors every hour-and-a-half.”

Switch focus to stare into the bottom of her glass. Dark, bubbly liquid fizzes away, fingers going numb from the cold. “Okay.”

Tilt back her head, slam the last half of the contents in a pair of gulps. No point ruining someone else's night. Burning another bridge along the way to her day of self-pity the morrow would bring.

“Okay?” the senior NCO scoffs, adding another critter to her menagerie. Almost had a zoo, by now. And she was running out of napkins. “I give you the biggest eff-you speech in years, and your only response is, 'okay'? The fuck happened to you, girl? Did someone slip something in your drink?”

Sit and think for a second. Debate just up and telling her. Spill the beans on her dirty deeds. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe she really was getting old, but she really felt like having someone to talk to.

“I fucked up,” she admits, after looking around to make sure there was no one around to eavesdrop.

“Well, aren't you the cheery drunk,” Kuvira teases, now resorting to make her animals chase each other for entertainment. Attention span of a fucking goldfish. If it wasn't work or family, in one ear and out the other. “I forgot what an emo shit you are under all the badass, kick your head off, lesbian tanker shtick.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

Let the silence hang between them for a second. Wait to see if her right hand was going to take this seriously, or just pass it off as drunken ravings. She wouldn't be entirely wrong if she did.

“Is this about the chick you got the hots for?” she finally asks, making one of her horses (or were they zebras?) leap over a lion (or a panther, couldn't really tell).

“Yeah.”

“Turn you down?”

“You could say that.”

Another pause. Empty, this time. The platoon-sergeant's hands were all that moved between them, now toying with some birds. Korra could tell she was waiting for the big reveal. The grand secret that had interrupted her night and postponed her relief.

_Fuck my life! We're doing this!_ “You know that new Sergeant we got yesterday?”

“Uh huh.”

Wait for it. Wait for the gears to mesh in her head. Put two and two together and make four.

“Oh.” And there it was. Feel, as much as watch, her turn to look wide eyed a the LT's sullen face. Watch her blink as she garners just how serious the situation was and is. “Oh, that's bad,” she says, utterly dumbfounded, blinking like she'd just been slapped, “That's really, really bad, boss. You fucked up, royally.”

_Don't I know it._ “Yep,” the officer agrees, making the P pop like cork.

“Did you know?”

_Tell the truth._ “Nope.”

“Did **she** know?”

_Lie. Lie like your fucking life depends on it._ “Nope.” Hope it sticks. Just pray she looks so drunk and miserable that any tell on her face could just be glazed over as general guilt.

“Damn,” Kuvira marvels, falling quiet as a pair of men walk by, eyes lingering on the pair for slightly longer than was comfortable. They couldn't have picked a worse pair if they'd started flirting. One married, sleepless, and in a hurry, despite their little chat. The other gay, more drunk than she realized, and really looking to blow off some steam. “What are you gonna do?”

Already knew the answer to that. “Nothing,” Korra tells her, eyes going hard briefly, “and neither are you.”

“Que?”

“No treating her any different. No giving her a hard time, none of it,” the Lieutenant orders in as firm a voice as she can manage with her head starting to spin. Somehow, stopping drinking was making her feel more wasted. “We both fucked up, we're both gonna have to live with it. Far as you're concerned: you heard nothing, you know nothing. Understood, Sergeant?”

Respond with the most casual salute ever. “Perfectly, Ma'am.”

“Good.”

Slump on the bar as the rum finally took hold. A pleasant, and entirely non-sexual warmth washes over her body. Not as pleasant as the other kind would be, but it's the only type she could manage without 'she who must no be named'.

“Okay, let's get you home, Ell-Tee,” Kuvira says, taking charge of the situation. An arm tucks under Korra's, hauling her to her feet.

They wobble for a moment as the officer's legs refuse to function for a moment. A couple stomps each and the blood-flow and circulation return. Rub her eyes to clear the fog that had descended as all the blood flew south, now, pooling somewhere right around her knees by the feeling of it.

Stagger out the door. Her stomach, a roiling sea. Keep her eyes fixed on spot after spot to ward off motion sickness. Door knob, the withered juniper across the street, light pole further down. Black car down the row.

Sleek black Ford something-or-other. Looks like her car. The one they rode in 'that night'.

Alas, or perhaps luckily for both of them, it wasn't hers. Korra couldn't imagine what she would do if the woman showed up, right now. Not the least because it would mean the Sergeant was violating her curfew. Charges of insubordination weren't so easy to sweep under the rug as acts of personal indiscretion. Couldn't just deal with it in-house. There'd would have to be a Court-martial, and then there'd be questions.

Uncomfortable questions.

Questions that would likely lead to admissions or revelations on one side or the other. Which would lead to a second Court-martial. Inevitably leading to Korra's head being mounted proudly in Colonel Beifong's trophy case.

Just another potential way for the woman to throw a massive monkey wrench in her life and career.

Sexy, sweet, passionate wrench. Wish this was her car she was being lowered in. Want to kiss her. Hold her. Make love to her. Wake up with her. Rewind to a time when wanting to be together wasn't tearing her heart apart. When spending two days as her CO hadn't reduced her to the type of officer she used to hate.

Drunk.

Angry, at themselves and everyone around them.

Second guessing every decision they'd ever made to get them to this moment in their life.

“Where to?” the Sfc asks, turning the key in the ignition, bringing a fresh wave of memories flooding back with the words. “You listening?”

“Just dump me at BOQ. It's on your way out.”

Didn't want to linger anymore. Just get the day over with so she could enjoy her one day off this week. Potential day off. About fifty-fifty, these days, whether she got called in for something. Usually stupid shit, but still a possibility.

“You're the boss,” Kuvira obliges, turning right out of the lot.

The drive is quiet, the AC cold enough to make Korra shiver. At some point the radio comes on, classic rock forming the background noise for the roughly fifteen minute journey. Her old friend paints a remarkable contrast to the last journey in a passenger seat she had taken. Slow accelerations and gentle stops. More juvenile habits of old tempered by marriage and motherhood.

Wouldn't want to scare her precious baby boy, would she?

“How is the little guy?” the Lieutenant asks, desperate for something else to talk and think about.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the change. Happy smile creasing her face as her parental pride bubbled up inside her. Perhaps the best way to turn the woman soft on you, and endear you forever, was to ask about her little one. Even if most of what she did was complain about him.

Had to keep up appearances, somehow.

“Well, he's teething, at the moment, so that's fun,” her chauffeur relays, flipping on her blinker well ahead of the stop-sign. “Caught him chewing on my keys, this morning. Damn near had a heart-attack. Kept picturing him swallowing one, having to go to the hospital...” A swift glace was tossed Korra's way when she realized she had started 'mommy babbling'. Deep breath and she put the mask of calm back on. “And, of course, he started crying when I took them away. Little brat wouldn't stop 'til I stuck a bottle in his mouth.”

_Aw, she's trying to act all hard about it. That's adorable._

“I'm telling you, Korra. Don't have kids, they'll ruin your life,” the Sergeant cautions, despite the fact she's practically bouncing in her seat at the chance to talk about her pride and joy.

_Somehow, I don't see that being a problem._ Well, if one of them was going to be happy, she might as well help them out. “How old is he, now, eight months?” As if she didn't know. Hadn't had every little nugget of useless information and insignificant progress beaten into her head with a five-pound sledge.

“Nine-and-a-half,” the toughest woman the LT ever knew coos, as happy as she's ever been. “Looks just like his daddy, already. I have pictures, do you wanna to see?”

“Not while you're driving,” Korra says, stopping the mother midway through digging her phone out of her pocket. Let the little smile seep onto her own face via osmosis. A contact high of joy, just what the doctor ordered. “Besides, do you really want to waste the rest of date-night with me pouring over pictures you're just gonna email me tomorrow?” Had a separate folder for them, now, quickly becoming the largest on her hard-drive. Mainly, because she feared the consequences of being discovered to have deleted any of them.

“You do have a point there,” the green-eyed woman hums, taking the last turn at a slightly quicker pace.

A return to quiet until they start pulling into the lot of Korra's housing block. Better than her off-base apartment in terms of utilities and access to amenities, but lacking slightly in whole the 'privacy' area.

“Hold up,” Kuvira says as the belt is discarded and door-handle pulled. “I need to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

Turn to look at each other. Faces suddenly stark serious. The question, well, that she can predict. “Can you work with her?” No softening up, no gentle easing into things. Just come out swinging. “Way you were talking before, sounded like you were really into this girl. You talked a big game back there, but you wouldn't be drowning yourself in booze if you were okay.”

Deep breath, try to smile. What she ended up with was more a half-smirk/half-grimace, but it was all she had to give. “I'll be fine,” Korra tells her, not quite able to make eye contact. “Just had to work a couple of things out.”

Her ride sighs and gives her a knowing look. “If you say so.”

“Go get your man,” she says with a glimmer of actual cheer, reaching for the door again and stepping out into the clear, starry night.

“Goodnight, Ma'am.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant.”

Watch her pull out in the corner of her eye, headlights swinging towards the road and her loving rendezvous. Shudder as she thinks about that, and the memories of her own that follow that discomfort.

Inside to bound (haul herself, wobbly) up the stairs to her third floor dorm, key already in hand. Ready for a fitful night, dreams of soft kisses and haunting eyes, and the inevitable worshiping of the porcelain gods in the morning. Not the alcohol that was the problem, it was the sugar. That's what she told herself.

Actually, she might do a little of that right now.

If she could make it there in time.

_Fuck my life..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we shall check in on how Asami is coping with things. Better or worse, what do you think?  
> Also, if anyone has any ideas for baby names, feel free to leave them below. I love comments.
> 
> JMStei: WELCOME ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN. TAKING US FROM HOPEFUL SHIP CITY TO ANGST TOWN. 
> 
> Humble: Noooo! It's really not, I promise. Just a few more chapters, then it's fluff for days.


	5. Asami in Repose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confinement isn't so bad. It's not like it gives you too much time to think about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, a look inside the mind of one Sergeant Asami Sato. Hope you enjoy her point of view, or, at the very least, sympathize.

Toss.

Catch.

Toss.

Catch.

Repeat the same an endless number of times as seconds tick by on the clock. Mocking her. Reminding her of the idleness that was forced upon her by the powers that be.

Or, one power.

“Hah,” Asami sighs, catching her last memento of college days, before she'd chosen a different path for herself. Spin it between her fingertips, taking in the familiar scuffs and breaks in the skin. The one panel that had fully eroded away after years, loose stitches to the upper right of that. Faded logo, now reading: Sp ldin.

Fight.

Fight against closing her eyes, even for a second. So she couldn't see  **Her** .

Above, saucy smile and dirty words on her tongue. Beneath, writhing and moaning, breath heavy and curses flowing. Smiling, across a crowded room, bright sapphires seeking her out, then narrowing with the hunt.

Blazing, anger bubbling, boiling, roiling just a hair's breadth from breaking the surface. Sullen, face averted, posture withdrawn.

Can't think about her. About the Lieutenant.

About Korra.

_ Not anymore… _

It had been a nice dream. A fun one, at that. That the kisses had been more than part of the proceedings. The compliments more than foreplay, not just a way to get them hot and primed for action. More than sex behind the sex. Attraction deeper than the skin. Fate, not random chance, bringing them together, over and over again. Meaning behind the way they held each other, budding feelings in the afterglow.

And, maybe there had been.

The question, sudden question. Or, maybe not so…

Acting weird the entire night. Even more attentive than usual. Leaving little clues and hints for her to pick up on. Not that she'd really picked up. Just assumed the officer was going a little harder than usual in the flirting department.

Then, at the end, out of nowhere, out of her wildest dreams:  _ “I was wondering if you'd like to get a cup of coffee, sometime?” _

An explosion of hope, undercut, just a fraction of a second later by reality rushing in.

Grabbing her heart and crushing it in a cold embrace. Circumstance and facts ramming themselves into her chance at happiness with the force of a MOAB, little bits of dream sent flying like shrapnel.

Transfer.

Her transfer.

It had totally slipped her mind. As had her promise, to come clean, beg forgiveness. To throw herself upon the mercy of the woman to whom she had lied. And who she had slowly been falling for, ever since laying eyes, and hands, upon her.

_ I fucked up _ , Asami inwardly berated, letting her ball go to bounce off her side and onto the floor.

She'd promised herself. Promised a thousand times after she learned to woman's rank. End it! No more!

But her eyes…

Those pretty eyes, a shade of blue she'd never seen. Like the sea or the sky, but clearer than both. More vibrant and bright and full of life than any the Sergeant had crossed before. Expressive and emotional, soft and kind, longing and sad at the very end.

And her taste…

The taste of Korra. Unique, different, almost addictive. Once the truth was known, also the other side of forbidden. While it should have driven her away, that knowledge had only made the thrill of seeing her, holding her, making love to her, all that more exhilarating. More mind-blowing than it already had been.

“Ugh!” she groans, balling up her fists and rolling off the bed. Wallowing in misery wasn't good for anyone, most certainly not her. But what to do to keep her mind off the train-wreck that was her life?

It's not like she has any books to read. At least, none that she hadn't thumbed a dozen times, already. After her first transfer, in which she'd tried to take everything hers, Asami had learned to trim the fat. Pack only the essentials, dump the rest at the local Goodwill, move on. Her most recent move, only eight months back, had seen her drop her entire wardrobe, save for two suitcases, a TV she'd gotten as a Christmas present from her father, and the last of her mementos. Everything else was either sent back to New York or written off for taxes.

That didn't leave much for options. Sure, there was cable, for all the entertainment that provided, and her Xbox for when that grew stale. But that would mean risking the common area, therefore leading to a prying chat with her roommate and all the joy that would bring.

So, her room, then.

Up and active. Look for something, anything, to get her blood flowing. Narrow her focus, clear her mind.

Exercise!

That had always worked, before. The repetition, the drip of sweat. Burning muscle and pounding heart. Keep her body tough, tougher than she'd ever thought she'd be.

Drop for twenty, no fifty! Drill Sergeant screaming in her memory. Having to bite her lip to keep from mouthing off. Failing, more than once. Powering through, regardless. Showing them, showing the world, she was more than some spoiled rich girl with a sheltered life.

Outperforming every woman in her class. Most of the men, too. Shove that Sergeant's words right up his ass.

_ I earned this _ , she tells herself, pushing off.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Keep the rhythm. Stay board flat.

Close her eyes to feel the blankness. Pure white of nothingness. Just the occasional errant whim for something she had denied herself. For cookies-and-cream ice cream, a nice big steak, and a long swim in a crystal clear lake.

Not there were any of those around here.

Just corn, cotton, and the occasional clumps of trees.

But then, halfway through the twenties, a flash. Tear her eyes open after her mind fills with images of mocha skin and chestnut hair under her. Lips on her throat, words in her ear. Could almost feel the hands gliding over her skin. Hot skin, hot breath, wafting scent of coffee and cinnamon.

“The fuck?” she whispers, softly so the words don't travel beyond her own ears.

Switch up, try to think. Recite procedure for replacing a broken torsion bar under her breath as she finishes the set just as her arms start to wobble.

Roll for sit-ups, don't lose momentum. Track tension protocol, both official and unofficial. Switch to engine stats after that. Keep going ‘til she lost count of her reps. Lunges, to the sound of emergency escape procedures. The age old prospect, and the tanker's worst nightmare, _ 'Oh my god, the tank is on fire!' _

Only, now, she trades sadness and anger for near panic inducing fear.

So, yeah, that's ten-pounds of nope in a five-pound bag. Back to happier thoughts it was, then. Morning checklist would do just fine for that, starting with greasing quotas.

Once perspiration dripped freely from her chin, Asami risked a glance at the clock. Just over forty-minutes had gone by, rotating through each exercise multiple times. Now she was drenched in sweat, muscles screaming, and she didn't even have the satisfaction of a good time to show for it. Long romp in a cheap hotel, toned arms around her waist as she let herself pretend. Mind wandering to all the questions she wanted to ask, or have asked.

_ Where are you from? _

_ What's your favorite movie? _

_ Cats or dogs? _

You know, all of the important, stupid, worthless bits of information you just can't live without knowing about a person. What their life was like before you met them, and how that made them who they are.

Three days ago, there would have been nothing more in this world she would have wanted more than to sit across the table from the blue-eyed Lieutenant whose name she'd craved to know. Today, she could barely stand to be in the same room as the woman, all sharp-tongued and snarling. Eyes that once looked at her with lust, flashes of affection, and that heartrending moment of utter rejection.

She, Asami Sato, had caused that. By being selfish. Unprofessional. Lying. Letting the life she chose take a back seat to a lie.

All that, she could admit. Even come to accept.

What she couldn't, was the way her frequent bed-mate had turned so suddenly from lover to enemy. Like a light-switch it had gone from pole to pole. From the apple in her eye, to the meanest junior officer the Sergeant had ever had the misfortune of working for.

In two days she'd been chewed out in private twice and in public once. Vicious, cutting, brutal attacks. Straight for the jugular each time. No restraint, just all the venom. Add to that a smattering of other slights, from pulling the bottom jobs to a full-week schedule to buoy her confinement, and Asami had quickly found herself near the breaking point.

Every fiber of her being wanted to retort, fight back, defend herself from the onslaught. But one order had stripped that idea from her mind:  _ “That mouth of yours, lose it.” _

Lip had always been her way of sticking it to those who tried to take advantage. From day one and before. On the pitch, in the classroom, at attention on the parade ground, anyone who tried to take a swing got one sent right back their way. It made her enemies, but damn it felt good.

But with Korra…  **_NO!_ ** _ It's Lieutenant Waters, it has to be!  _ The satisfaction just wasn't there. Never had been.

Didn't help that the woman immediately shied away after each of their encounters. Like a kicked puppy or a regretful child. Vanishing into her tank, closeting herself in her office, for hours on end. The few times they had crossed paths it was only for the briefest of moments. Skirting to the opposite end of the depot whenever she had to make a trip, glancing sideways out the corner of her eye to keep track of the NCO's movements.

And sometimes, she felt, lingering elsewhere.

Maybe it was just her imagination. A residue of regret and longing. But, every once in a while, Asami swore she felt eyes on her.

Not the usual ones, either. Leering, loathsome, lecherous looks had followed her most of her days. She'd gotten used to it, if not truly comfortable. The way people looked. Turning as she walked past, as though they thought she wouldn't notice. Venturing down, then back up again, only once they'd had their fill.

But, the Lieutenant?

Well, she had a very particular way of looking Asami's way.

It would start the same, that was for sure. Even now, as she dug through her laundry for something clean and warm to bed down in, when her eyes blinked closed, she could picture it. How she'd scan her out from among the crowd, immediately following the usual routine. Down her back, pause. And then, the most remarkable thing would happen. The woman would stop herself, lids closing for about three times longer than a typical blink, and look up to find her face.

If Asami were to have described it in a word, that word would be: adorable. With the luxury of three, that would extend itself to: adorable and respectful.

She liked the way Korra looked at her, whether at a party or in the bedroom. Amid the lust, the longing for release, there was always a little bit of restraint. Some small glimmer of softer things, polishing the rough edges of their one-night stands into something truly wonderful.

This morning, the Sergeant thought she'd caught her doing it again. Her back had been turned when the prickling started, and by the time she'd spun around all she'd caught was a flash of glittering cerulean swiftly turning back to the recently arrived Company XO and whatever topic they had to discuss.

Next time their eyes met, though, whatever she had seen was gone. Only simmering distaste and a faint sadness underneath. Buried in her eyes.

Deep.

So deep it might not even be there. Just a projection of her own thoughts upon her former lover.

“God dammit,” Asami muttered, tossing her change of clothes over her shoulder and making her way to the door. Maybe a shower would help clear her mind. Wash things away, both figurative and literal. Scrub thoughts from her mind with the same ease as sweat from skin.

Hot water streams from the tap as she sheds her second set of clothes for the day. Cast her eyes down her side to the jagged scar along her stomach. Faded, so much in these last few years, but the memory of its earning was still fresh. Trace it with a finger, just like she did every day. Wince a little, like the pain was still fresh, only a blink away from returning.

An errant though floats through Asami's mind as she climbs into the shower. Another question she would have asked.  _ “Where did you you get your scar?” _

She'd seen on their first night together. Thought nothing of it, too. Until, that is, the hand that brushed over the spot, just by chance, was pushed away at frantic speed. Panic had burned in her eyes, in that moment. Seeing something that wasn't there.

Then she blinked.

And smiled that brilliant smile of hers. The night had thus resumed.

What a night it had been…

“Why did I screw this up?” she asked herself for the hundredth time today, scrubbing her scalp a little harder than usual. Longer, too. Even after the soap is fully washed away, still she scrubs. Then it's just pulling. Tugging at her dripping locks. A new wetness on her face that mingles with the other. Hotter than the rest, somehow. Can't seem to brush them away. Can't force that image from her mind.

Sad eyes.

Sad face.

Her fault.

Knocking. Knocking on the bathroom door. Soft, at first, but quickly growing harder when response was not forthcoming. “Sato,” the unwanted voice of her bunkmate called through the divider, “I got burgers, you hungry?”

Stomach roiled at the thought of food. Greasy trash, at that. Somehow, in a town with a fast food joint on every corner, her junior always managed to wander into the scummiest hole in the wall diners to collect food. Places that no reasonable health department would let stay open for a day, yet lingered in this army town to cater to just the type who was offering to share.

But then it growled, betraying her much as her heart had.

“Just put it by my door,” she shouted over the din of pounding water. Brush her eyes, swallow the tears. Pinch her nose and pretend that it was all okay.

It wasn't.

Really wasn't. But, it had to be. For both of them.

No matter how infuriating it was to get scolded like a fresh Private. Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She would bear it. Take responsibility for her mistakes.

That was what she thought as she dried herself, pulled on her oversized sweatpants and snuck swiftly out of the bathroom. Edging along the wall, quiet, quiet. Eyes fixed on the back of the her pointing blankly at the TV. She'd stay there all night, likely. Wake up there in a daze, thinking she was late for duty.

Again.

Food in hand, she slipped into sanctuary. Alone, with naught but her thoughts for company. Throwing herself upon the bed and making a quick nest atop the covers, digging over-salted fries and a burger more cheese than meat from the nondescript white paper bag.

Let her brief façade crumble while devouring the comfort food she'd never buy herself. It was the question, just the question, that played over and over Asami's mind.

_ “I was wondering if you'd like to get a cup of coffee, sometime?” _

_...get a cup of coffee, sometime… _

_...cup of coffee… _

“Coffee...”

In that moment, something in her snaps. Sanity threw itself upon its sword and reason passed her by. Asami knew the truth. Had known it the moment the words that doomed her blooming feelings had slipped from the woman's mouth, panting after the throws of orgasm.

It didn't matter she was a Lieutenant.

Didn't matter if she was mad.

There was no way she was passing up on a girl like that, just because a bunch of old wrinkly men told her it was wrong. The fuck did they know anyways? Resolve settled itself in her stomach and the former soccer player knew, then, what she must do. Go down in glory or in a streaking ball of flame.

“I'ma get that cup of coffee out of you, Korra Waters,” the driver swore upon her fries, glaring at the as if they had offended her. “And there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Rest assured, our good Miss Sato isn't gonna let Korra pass her by without a fight. Next time, a bit of exercise for both the girls, but not like that.
> 
> Tell me what you thought, if you have the time. I love comments.


	6. A Bit of Light Jogging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami tries to work things out with her CO, and Korra wants no part of it. At least, that's what she keeps telling herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. If you're not American, I hope you had a lovely Thursday.  
> Anyways, let the magic begin.

Day 3, 0500

The morning began much as she'd expected. Face down on the ground, head pounding like a steel drum, taste of last night’s sick in her mouth. Lips dry and cracked, mouth much the same. Eyes refusing to open, despite the maddening _beep, beep, beep,_ of her alarm.

Test it, just a sliver and…

_Aaaaggghh! The light, it burns!_

_Fuck my life!_

Of course she'd fallen asleep facing the nightlight. God just hated her that why. The dreams last night reminded her that much.

They were hazy, now. Fading as her mind started to catch up with the process of waking up. But the theme was still strong, one face standing out among the crowd. Black hair and ruby lips. Smile like a thousand sunrises. Soft hands in hers, on a beach, in a park, on her couch. Then they had been on her, lips too. All the soft places. Every one that she had left.

Push off to shake memory from stalling her on the spot she'd passed out in, unable to drag herself to her bed after spending an hour worshiping the porcelain gods.

Get active, stay active, that was the key.

Hangover protocols went into effect, immediately. Grab toothbrush, double dollop of minty goo, and put the coffee on. Double strength, nice and dark. Enough to melt the grease out of an engine, if needs be. Start scrubbing while that's on the brew.

Elbow grease, a bit of sweat. Get that toilet sparkly clean.

And the sink.

Shower.

Scrub the night away, again. Smell of rum instead of sex. Know full well which one she prefers. And which one was easier to deal with.

Step out, towel off.

More brushing of the teeth. Gargle mouthwash, clean the sink, again. Finish up the sound of the, _Ding!_ Sweet relief in liquid form. Guzzle it down like the lifeblood it really was. Burn her tongue, and her throat, and her belly. Felt good, though. No better way to wake up in the morning than first-degree burns.

Breakfast, next. Most important meal of the day. An apple, a banana, and a heaping bowl of cereal. Chow down with one eye on the clock. Seconds blinking past, taunting her on her early rise.

Briefly consider drowning herself in her bowl of Wheaties when the alarm goes off a second time. End it comically, let whoever found her get a laugh out of this fucking car-crash of a morning. Settle for bringing her fist down on the snooze button a little harder than usual. Unplug the damn thing when it goes off a third time. Rip the batteries out after that.

_Fuck this clock, and whoever designed it!_

Pat last night's pants down for her keys. Thank herself for the foresight of making the long walk to the O-Club instead of driving. She didn't feel like a chore this early.

What she did feel like was a run. Nice long one where she could think. Strategize. Figure out what drink hadn't provided. A way to live with Asami Sato in her life, but also not. Locate that balance between the two extremes of isolation and total madness. Turn off the lights and march to the steps, eyes fixed forwards. Avoid the attention of anyone else up this early by being so obviously disinterested that any who got any ideas in their head about starting a conversation.

Drive in silence to the track field. Best place for a jog on base. Flat, well-lit, measured out. Also, at this time of the morning, still relatively deserted.

Arrive at a little after 0630. Headphones in before she leaves the car, playlist already singing in her ears. Check the cars for the usual suspects. About a score, in total. Mostly mid-2000's makes, with a smattering of newer and older mixed in to fill the numbers. Their owners mill about, either stretching or already starting the morning run.

Senior NCO's, a couple Maple Leafs, even a full bird trying to recapture the old days.

And, strangest of all, right at the end, leaning against the hood of her Ford, a certain Sergeant that shouldn't be there. Shouldn't be anywhere, this time of day. Let alone with a thin smile on her pretty face, hands tucked into her pockets, looking like she had been **waiting** for Korra to arrive.

This isn't a party.

This isn't a game.

It's real life with real consequences. Big ones. Life changing ones.

_Why does she do this to me?_

Breath deep to calm rising fury. Partly professional, mostly personal. The LT won't lie about that to herself. How that sassy attitude, so sexy in bed, pissed her off to no end as a commander. “You better have a damn good reason for breaking curfew, Sato,” the tanker warns, sad that it wasn't the first time, “If you don't I'm having the Captain schedule you a court-martial, today.”

“We need to talk,” the driver says, smile fading in an instant. What takes its place is hard to read, but in a word it's: sad.

“No, we don't,” Korra insists, arms balled in her sweatpants. Her chin nods at the sleek ride her former lover had chauffeured her in, face as stony as she could make it. “You need to get back in your car, drive yourself home, and stay there until your duty shift starts. I'll give you to the count of ten to get your ass out of here. Do it and I'll **pretend** I never saw you.”

Green eyes close. Deep breath of her own. “Please?” the woman asks of her, looking straight down the barrel with equal parts fear and determination. “Korra-” Both cringe as she speaks the name “-I'm sorry. Just let me say what I have to and I'll go.”

_Why does it feel like I'm beating my head against a wall? Why do you keep doing this to me?_

“Walk and talk,” the senior orders, turning on her heel to hit the grass at a light jog. Sato keeps pace, falling into step beside her in an instant. Turn to keep her face hidden. Keep that frustration, self-doubt, and whatever else might be slipping out from being shown until a game plan formed. A convincing mask to show the others who might toss a glance their way.

Set the pace early on. Not fast enough to catch up to anyone, but not slow enough to get caught. Footfalls and Linkin Park in one ear, listening expectantly with the other.

“I messed up,” Asami admits, hard truth in her words.

Nod along to the beat of Numb. Also nod to her right and give her retort. “Damn straight you did. What the actual fuck were you thinking?” Watch that flash of defensiveness leap to the fore, getting bullied down just as fast. “Do you just not take this kind of thing seriously?”

“Of course I do!” the Sergeant says in a crisp voice that almost snaps. A little shame at that, eyes fixed dead ahead. “Sorry.”

They ran in silence for a moment. Long moments. Stretching on with every pace.

Flick of her wrist and the earbud is pulled from its place and draped upon her shoulder. Casting glances to the face next to hers, brows twitching with thought. Beads of sweat running down, sent flying by her lashes as she blinks. Nostrils flaring, chest heaving, lips slightly parted as she warred with the instinct to pant.

Familiar, that. Different circumstances, of course. Less clothes on, for a start. But still familiar, somehow comforting.

“I want you to now that I don't make a habit of hooking up with people at parties,” her former lover states as they begin the first turn of many Korra would make. “S'not my thing, not my style. When we met I'd just gone to the place 'cause I'd heard there was free drinks, okay?”

 _Wish I could say the same,_ the Lieutenant thought, with just a dash of shame. It had been her way of life since her first combat rotation, and a hobby before that. 1. Go to party, 2. Couple drinks, 3. Find some fine company to spend the night with, 4. Either enjoy some bed rocking or get utterly shitfaced.

Most nights ended in failure. Most successes were utterly forgettable. But not her.

Not _them_.

“Why me, then?” asks the officer, curiosity spiking before she could stop it. Regret, a moment later. But a part of her had to know. A thumping, squeezing, aching, hurting part of her needed to hear it from the source. Whatever the reason, good or bad, truth or lie. “What made me so different?”

“Simple answer?” The question hung between them for a number of seconds as the sun started to peak above the horizon. “Because you **were** different.”

 _Huh? What's that supposed to mean?_ That wasn't an answer so much as a bottomless pit of additional questions she could ask. The statement was neutral, same as the tone that issued it. Regardless of the little smile that teased those pretty lips, there was no satisfaction from the words she spoke. Like something was held back, just at the precipice, waiting for a little shove to push it over the edge.

“I'm used to people looking at me a couple ways, Korra,” Asami says, half turning to face her CO so their eyes met almost fully. “People either see me as my father's kid or someone they want to fuck. You probably read my file, right? So you know who I am.”

“Yeah.”

She'd read it, alright. Cover to cover. Pondered over its meaning in full. Came up with as many answers as her marathon binge session had left her with.

“All my life I've been the privileged, rich girl. Congressman's daughter, silver spoon in my mouth, get the bit?” she asks, no harshness in her tone, just reluctant acceptance. Like she had come to terms with the fact a long time ago. Then, with a shrug, she carries on, “I can't change that. It's who I am, no matter how hard I fight it. Hell, it's a big part of why I joined the Army in the first place. For once in my life, I wanted to work to earn something, not have it handed to me 'cause someone thought it'd buy them a favor down the line.”

Heart pangs, again, at that jazz. Sympathy wells within her breast for the girl with the emerald eyes. “And I don't?” the tanker inquires, drawing a raised eyebrow. “Look at you like that, I mean?”

A little giggle. First one she'd heard from her since they danced betwixt her sheets, lips and lips intertwined.

The TC knew that laugh. The teasing one she made just before she made a playful dig at another's expense, likely at the moment it leaped to mind. “Well… you **definitely** wanted to do me,” the Sergeant laughs, making blood rush to cheeks and ears, as well as eyes to their surroundings.

_Please, let no one have heard that._

Good luck on that point, as the other groups were still just as far away as they had been from the beginning.

“Sorry, I couldn't help myself,” the irritating woman chuckles, smiling a little wider than before. A happy smile. One that betrays her falling anxiety, rising level of comfort. Getting ideas about who was in charge of the conversation.

“But, seriously, I liked the way you looked at me, Ma'am,” she continues in a more serious tone. “Like you wanted to be **_with_ ** me, not just **_have_ ** me. It made me feel special, I guess, and I'm not used to that. Guess I wanted to keep that for a little bit longer than I should have. It was wrong, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth from the start.”

Let out her held breath in a great sigh. “That's one hell of an apology, Sato,” Korra marvels, running a hand through her hair as turn three sneaks up on them. A sudden desire for honesty struck the up-jumped NCO, against her better judgment, and her lips began to move on their own. “Look, I won't pretend you're the first girl I've sacked up with. We'd both know that would be a lie, I think.”

A nod confirms her statement after a moment's restraint on her former lover's part. She wasn't happy about it, but she admitted her suspicions.

“But, I promise I didn't after we-” Oh, how to phrase that, without making it sound either too callous or too romantic. “-after our first time. You were the first person I'd gone back to my place with in years, and it meant a lot that you respected me when we were… together.”

Despite her attempt to hide it, Korra caught those green eyes flick down. They couldn't see the spot with how they were oriented, but it made the muscles pull, all the same.

Back up, less than a second passed, slightly sad smile on plump lips. “Thank you for telling me that,” Asami whispers, a little twinkle in her eye. “And thank you for doing the same.” A pause, and then a second confession. “I know it's off the table, now, but if it wasn't, I would love to get a cup of coffee with you, Korra.”

Thump, thump, thump. Feet falling on the track, shaking her her bones. Muscles working, tendons tensing. Body warm and ecstatic with exercise. And caffeine. Loving the caffeine right now.

But another warmth had returned to her face.

Thump, thump, thump. Pounding of her heart. Thundering, rumbling, wonderful sound. Reminding her she was alive. It echoed in her chest, in her ear, her neck, her skull. Sent running at double, no, triple pace by what amounted to an acceptance of her question asked whist tangled in her sheets.

But, then, just as fast as it had risen, the elation fell as a wave upon the shore. Grinding against the edifice that was 'The Book'.

Silence returned to them as they completed their latest lap. Korra slowed early to bring them to a stop just at the opening in the fence. A little over half her run was over and the clock told her she was ahead of time.

“I guess this is my stop,” Asami sighs, stepping off into the grass, mopping her brow on a sleeve.

A quick look around and the platoon lead nods. More cars had arrived during their little talk. A score, perhaps, of additional bodies. None familiar, but you could never be too safe. “I guess it is,” she replies, gesturing to the black Ford. “Get yourself home, before I have to do something we'll both regret, Sergeant. And make sure you stay there, this time.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” obliges the woman with hair of midnight silk. The salute she gave was casual, friendly.

Maybe a little too friendly.

That might be why, when her arm snapped up, it was stiffer than she meant it to be. It earns her a raised brow and a cheeky smile, before the party girl spins on her heel and walks off, fingers interlocked on her head so she could breathe more deeply.

Watching her walk away, again, stirs something in Korra's belly. A return of that vulnerability she hates. Shivering, quivering emptiness. The kind that makes her wrap herself in blankets, drink 'til she can hardly walk, fight to keep from screaming with how frustrated she is at coming home to an empty apartment every night.

Cold and lonely.

Id and Ego war. Logic and Desire, duking it out with brutal mental fisticuffs. Low blows and cheap shots on either side as she gets further and further away. Long, long legs carrying her back to the realms of unattainability.

 _This is stupid. This is_ **_sooo_ ** _stupid! Dad is going to kill me when he hears about this. I'm going to throw away my career for a fucking crush!_

Chew on her lip, last chance at saving herself being able to keep her trap shut.

And release it. _Damnit, I hope she's worth it. She's gotta be._ “Hey, Sato!” the Lieutenant calls to her crewman, watching her face whip around. After a quick glance for prying ears she makes an offer that, be either of them sane, would be refused, out of hand. “You come off confinement Saturday. O-2000, on the dot, Route 95 Diner, far side of town, if you want that cup of coffee. You know the place?”

“No,” the green-eyed rule-breaker answers her with a victorious smile on her face, “But I'm sure I can find it.”

Left dumbstruck at both of them, Korra shook her head as Asami climbed into her car and backed away, smiling ear to ear. Only as the Ford sped away did a smile cross her lips, realizing she'd been played.

Popping her headphones back in, she set off at a renewed pace invigorated to the sound of The Brightest Green bringing an ironic laugh to her lips. Excitement and dread in equal measure mix with the sound, sending the butterflies in her stomach into flight. She was queasy, her knees felt weak, and her hangover was making her headache almost mind-melting in terms of pain. But damn if it didn't feel good.

This was the most alive she'd felt in years.

_Fuck my life…_

_This is going to end terribly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it'll be a date. Of course, they have to make it through the week first.
> 
> See you in a couple weeks.


	7. On Tender-hooks and Tank Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a secret rendezvous arranged and little time before deployment, Korra has to struggle through the mundane task of readying her troops for the rigors of war. Piece of piss, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to my editor, JMStei, this week. This was a tougher chapter than I had thought and their brainstorming really helped pull it together.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Nerves rack her as she enters the warehouse that is home. It’s loud, bustling, busy as she’s ever seen it. Men, both hers and others, step lively with the morning tasks at hand. All those mundane preparations for war you rarely hear about in memoirs or see on TV.

They greet Korra as they always do, swift salutes and the words, “Morning, Ma’am.”

Many smile at her arrival, a reprieve from the tyranny of the NCOs. To them she is a mediating hand and a more fair-minded discipline. Not the fire and brimstone of the older generation, nor the loose, almost fatherly attention of the Captain, but laying somewhere in between. A middle-ground, a balance of sorts.

Korra doesn’t feel all that balanced, though.

Her mind is ablaze, synapses firing at random. Can’t keep a thought, no focus to be had, only a chaotic jumble of half-formed ideas, hopes, and fears.

The week had passed as such, the veteran tanker only just clinging on. It was like this every time they got ready to ship out. Stress went through the roof, sleep became a distant memory. Life became a loosely connected string of documents, and checks, and briefings, and more things to sign, and even more things to double, then triple-check.

Somehow, through fool’s-providence, the Lieutenant had managed to add a whole heaping scoop of something else on top of that.

Not an easy task, that.

Dancing around, tip-toeing on the line, the razor’s edge, is not one of her strong suits. Neither is keeping secrets. Not from her crew, especially. The whole week she had struggled. Lied to everyone, by word and by omission, churning her stomach with every untruth.

Sato and she both had danced the dance. Still acting as though at arm’s length, despite the conspiracy between them.

It ended today.

Ten hours from now and Korra would be free of the guilt. Free to see if it was all worth it. Her little moment of impulse and poor judgment.

First to join her, to test her fraying strands, was none other than the only person who could truly suspect. Kuvira tosses a casual salute her way, falling into quick step aside her commander. “How ya’ feeling?” she asks, once the formalities had been addressed.

“‘Bout as good as I look,” the officer replies, butterflies taking to wing in her belly as she tries to subtly search for that bun of restrained black gossamer.

“Well, you look like shit, so there’s that,” the 1st Sergeant points out, dropping back a moment so they could fit a narrow gap. Every day more equipment piled up to maneuver around in the narrow confines of the workshop. Another bit of kit to help the Company get ready. “No sleep last night?”

“Not really.”

Awake, tossing and turning. Dipping in and out of sleep’s sweet embrace. Too busy thinking of another to enjoy the one she had. Nothing had even come close to keeping her down for long. Not warm milk, not exercise, hot bath, or background noise.

Even her brief abortive attempt at relieving some, ah,  _ tension _ , had given her no peace. Rather, as fingers brushed her bare skin, the mind had filled with one face.

One lovely face.

Full lips and stunning eyes. Bell-like laughter, snarky humor. Legs. Legs for days.

“You figure out what you’re gonna do about your little problem?” Kuvira asks, almost reading her old friend’s mind as she did so. Narrow eyes flit her way, observing a face impassive. The same question, every day. Always at a time like this. When most suspicious, and inopportune. “Two of you talk things out, or what?”

“I have and we haven’t.” Both lies, but not if reversed.

“Good to hear it,” the woman hums, accepting words as facts, for now. “Your kids are up in the playground, by the way. Didn’t have anything for them on the docket, so they’re cleaning up the place.”

With a nod, she peels off to join them, leaving naught but swift farwells in her wake.

Up, up, up she climbs.

Hands on smooth, cool panels of heavy plate. Feet propel her onwards, pushing off rungs and textured contours. Closer, closer to the place she felt safest in all the world. Her own little kingdom, with subjects three. The hatch, a portal into this magical land apart from all this world's troubles, is now in sight. Muffled words come out of it, hushed inside the interior, loudest of them a little curse as there sounds a dull thunk of skull on metal.

“Room for one more?” she asks, forgetting rank for a moment, knowing she need not permission to tread within the confines of the place.

A head peaks out the loader's hatch. Its proper owner, in fact. Smile splits his boyish face, eliminating the trace of frustration that had been present as he emerged. “Come on in, Boss,” Bolin welcomes, slipping back into the turret with quickest salute. “Just doing a little busy work.”

And so she does, almost shaking from withdrawal.

The process is second nature to her at this point. Crouching at the lip for just a moment before lowering a leg inside to step on her seat. Bring the other in and use the CROWS mount as an extra handhold to steady her decent. A flash of tinted light through the vision block, then the screen for her many sights and displays. Dark and empty, barely reflecting her face in its surface.

_ Honey, I'm home. _

“Good morning, Ma'am,” a second voice sounds, terser than the previous. A woman's voice, her driver's voice. This night’s (gulp) date's voice.

It was a miffed tone. One with only just disguised hostility. Professional, but undeniably unfriendly. Thorny touch as it snakes into the Lieutenant's ear, setting of all of the alarm bells that could be rung, and forging a couple more, for good measure.

Her mind, stressed as it was, jumped without looking first. Diving down the rabbit hole before common sense could stop it.

_ Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! _

_ Something happened. Something  _ **_has_ ** _ to have happened. She went home and something  _ **_fucking_ ** _ happened, and now she hates me, again. _

_ Fuck me. _

_ Fuck! _

_ My! _

_ Life! _

“Morning, Sergeant,” Korra returns, cool and level as she can manage with her brain spinning like a top.

Inside her mind, she beats those fears into submission with a heavy club. Binds them with rope of knowledge. Guards them with a hopeful flutter. A romantic tingling she hadn’t felt in so long. One that begs for a single chance.

Just one.

Green eyes, those shining emeralds, flick up to meet her blue. There's not anger in them. Just a twinkle of a smile that hasn't reached down to her lips. That part of her is set in scowl, corners turned well down and thin to the width of a pencil line.

“We were just talking about adding Sgt. Sato to the playlist,” Bolin says, returning to his checking of wire bundles. “Do you have any idea where the iPod is?”

With a hum, she thinks back, trying to remember who had been trusted with its possession. “Pretty sure Mako had it last,” the TC mulls, vaguely remembering him slipping it in a pocket after their last trip to the Swamp. “Give him a call when your done to make sure, though. Shifty's been poking around.”

The part about him slipping everything that wasn’t nailed down into his pockets was left implied. Neither Korra or anyone else had actually caught him in the act, but the suspicion was enough for the name to be born and kept.

With a nod, the man gets to his task, menial as it was.

“So, yeah, the old girl's got a few quirks to her, but she'll treat you good if you handle her right,” he continues, picking up right where he must have left off. “Really doesn’t like turning to the left real fast, so you have to ease into it if you're going over about 10.”

_ Did you just call my tank old? _

_ Fuck you! _

_ Don’t listen to him, girl. He doesn’t mean it. _

With her own hands busy checking the various mountings and compartment for sturdiness, Asami responds, making plenty clear she wasn't paying any mind to the newcomer in their midst. “Are you sure it's not a problem with the differential? Or, maybe the transmission’s starting to go bad?”

“Nah,” the Corporal denies, waving the suggestion away with ease, “Maintenance goes over this baby with a fine-toothed comb, every couple weeks. No way something like that got passed them.”

“We try to keep her in top form, when we can,” Korra relays, taking to the only job open to her, making sure her station was in order.

Someone had meddled with the setup, at some point, all the little touches made during her tour being removed or pushed aside since last she sat in this seat, what seemed like ages ago. Pictures from the little camera she had taken along were scraped away, only tatters of paper where glue had affixed them remaining. Whiteboard and markers had been removed with some amount of force. The special mounting for extra M4 clips had been battered and deformed by careless hands or feet, thin sheet steel pressed flat to the spall liner.

One trace of her service remains, however. The battered remains of an old vision block

Cracked and shattered face were still just as rough as she remembered. Remnants of the bullet that struck it still visible in the portion she had kept. A slice of physical memory. More a warning than a charm.

It had saved her life, yes. Raava had saved her life. By act of god or random chance, it had happened. The memento reminded her as such.

Fate was not always in her hands. Sometimes, she was just along for the ride.

Something brushes against her leg, rousing her from the threat of reliving the moment in her head. Euphoric and hilarious as the moment had been at the time, it still made her legs weak when she thought about it for more than a couple minutes at a time.

Looking down, she sees Sgt. Sato making quick work of her stowage. All the bits and bobs that weren't pulled out while stateside swiftly and efficiently put into place and locked down. It stills seems strange that she be so at home in this setting, even after many hours for that to sink in. But, somehow, it also seems right.

“Well, I'll do my part to keep it that way, Ma'am,” the woman states, wiping the sweat from her brow in the same motion as the end of her run.

Across the breech, a buzzing tone. Vibrations on the loader's seat as phone rang in his pocket.

“Can I get this, real quick?” the youngest of her crew asks of her while keeping at his puttering. This mindless, pointless work that meant nothing and no one ever thanked you for. Classic Army, that. “Mom's been trying to get hold of me, it's probably her.”

“Five minutes.”

“Thanks, Boss!”

In a flash, he had gone. Vanishing with an eagerness so like him. That left just the two women in green. Sinners unknowing, in part. Knowing collaborators, in others.

The silence that lingers between them is awkward, heavy. An expectant quite, just waiting for words to fill it. Eager for a spark to set it alight, kindle itself into a flame of conversation, whether pleasant warmth of raging inferno.

But they wait.

Wait for the sound of footsteps to fade. The heavy oof of man meeting pavement, a clear sign he would be out of earshot if they spoke with some level of restraint.

“So, how are you liking the gang?” Korra asks, desperate for small-talk to fill the air.

The Sergeant, Asami, whatever the fuck she was supposed to be called in the moment, turns to look up at her. A hop of her shoulders, a gentle shrug. “They’re alright, I guess,” she says, a far more casual tenor to her voice than had been present since their run. They had managed to stay the course, pretend the tenseness between them stemmed from other sources, but cracks had started to show. “Cpl. Stone seems like a good person, same for Sgt. Lee. What’s his name, the Irish guy? Anyway, he’s got himself about as much a lip on him as I do, so we’ll probably get along well.”

_ Yeah, but his probably don’t taste as- _

**_No!_ ** _ Bad Korra! _

“And Sgt. Steel is, how to say it?” Green orbs look at her, mulling words before she speaks them. “Intense.”

Speak of the devil, no sooner had the assessment reached open air does the sound of the Platoon XO’s voice boom out in the echo chamber that was their berth. Hollering at some layabout for some reason. Maybe they hadn’t been fast enough to compliment her little bundle of joy. Whatever the case, hell was being raised and Korra, more likely than not, would soon be forced to intervene.

“Yeah,” the CO hums, peeking up to her hatch, “She does that with everyone.”

“It’s kinda scary, if I’m honest with you,” the newbie admits, flashing a quick smile, before tacking on the obligatory, “Ma’am.”

With a snort, Korra puts that into context in her head. The line at which this maddening woman draws fear. So close to home, personal and cute, in a way. “Best advice I can give you is stay out of her way when she’s on the warpath,” the tanker advises, shifting to a more comfortable position in her chair. “Listen to her, though. That woman will keep you alive better than I ever could.”

“I’ll remember that,” the soft reply, almost lingering as the final ‘t’ just fades into nothing at the end. There’s something there. Something that wants to be said, but isn’t. “Will I still see you tonight?”

The question takes Korra by surprise, though it perhaps shouldn’t.

As busy as the Company had been, there had been no time to hammer out details in private. No privacy to be had, if she was honest. Short of a couple seconds on the way out in the evening, all their interactions had been in passing.

Safe money on Kuvira trying to do one or the other of them a solid. Force a wedge between the two so wounded feelings wouldn’t start to affect unit cohesion.

That or she was still mad about ‘almost’ (as she had stressed the next day, with copious amounts of innuendo) missing out on some marital bliss with her hubby. Frankly, the more she thought about it, the more that option made sense. If she was even threatened with not getting any, the other parties involved  **definitely** weren’t.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” the officer says, so quiet in her confirmation that it would seem whisper was too strong a word. Waving her hand to get attention, she signals  _ “8?” _

A shake of a fist back.  _ “7.” _

Korra nods, checking her watch. Five minutes have come and gone. Bolin would return, soon. His face as oblivious and cheerful as always. Happy words on his tongue and that unshakable optimism in his heart.

What Korra wouldn’t give for a dash of that, right now.

Oh well. Settling for a final nervous, skittish, day of awkwardness wouldn’t be so bad. It would all be worth it in the end. Probably. Definitely probably. Just so long as-

“Attention! Fall out for inspection!”

The Colonel didn’t stop by.

_ Fuck my life... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's date night next chapter. Or, coffee, at the very least.  
> I'll see you all then, and many thanks for reading/commenting. It really does brighten my day.


	8. The Route 95 Cafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's date night and Korra's nervous, for more reasons than one. But, she's also more than a little hopeful...
> 
> And hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish you all a Merry (insert-holiday-of-choice-here) and a wonderful Happy New Year. A pleasant chapter to hopefully cap off the year well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Day 7, 1900

Route 95 Cafe

**_Ringaling!_ **

The bell on the door rings a merry tune as she swings it wide, aided by the gusting wind behind her. Jacket buffets against her back as she swiftly hops inside, surplus store fabric offering an excellent buffer from the coming storm front.

Quickly, she's enjoying the blast of familiar sights and smells. Grease of the fryer, hot coffee on the air. Rattle of ice in the machine as it turned over, sending a cascade of frozen crystals into a waiting pitcher. Crackling sound of eggs and bacon on the grill, sizzling of steak nearby. Quiet conversation among the patrons, few in number due to the late hour, but enjoying themselves, just the same.

In all her years in town, this one place had stayed the most like when she first arrived. Same pictures on the wall, same two aging waitresses on the evening shift. Rows of coffee pots and flower vases all in exactly the same arrangements as her last visit. Paint that same color of off-white, booths and stools a deep red.

A slice of the 1950’s, transported to the modern day in a flash. Time capsule to a forgotten past, probably for the better.

“Hi there, hon,” greets the nearest of the staff, a woman in her mid-fifties, blonde hair going grey by the strand, in a steep southern accent. “Go ahead and sit anywhere you like, alright? We’ll be right with you.”

Slide into one of the nearest booths, body facing the door. Eyes fixed on that single spot.

Hold her arms still as they shiver, nothing to do with the gale outside, or the puddle she'd stepped in on the way from her car.

No, this was a nervous shudder. One brought on by apprehension of what was to come and all that could go wrong. It's been years since her last date, and that went as badly as possible. You'd like to think it was just like riding a bike. The sort of thing you never really forget once you do it a couple time.

Yeah, if that were the case, then Korra was a lot more hopeless at this whole “relationship” thing than she thought.

 _The fuck am I doing here?_ the Lieutenant asked herself, foot tapping a staccato rhythm on the laminate floor. She should be double, hell, triple-timing herself the exact opposite direction of this diner, right now.

Before this point, she had the benefit of telling the folks on the high horse she'd been left out of the loop. No one told her Sato was GI, the woman herself included. Sure, she hadn't asked, but that isn't one of the first questions to pop to mind when you're gay, green, and single. You take what you can get, and don't look stunningly gorgeous gift horses in the mouth. Certainly not when you came back for more.

Now, however, she'd fucking instigated.

In public.

While the sergeant had been breaking confinement.

A fucking Jenga tower of violations, teetering on the slimmest of margins in the first place. Set that mother on **fire** when you add the lying in the mix.

“I'm so bad,” she frets, face falling into her hands as she tries to rub the shame away. For the briefest of moments a decision floats in her mind. Call it off, make the call, show some of that Army discipline she was supposed to have and put service over sentiment, duty over desire. Then, Code Red that shit into the 90's as her heart flutters at fantasy. “She's just too fucking perfect, though.”

A big pile of sentient sass, with a body that turned heads from downrange. The perfect woman. One massive pain as a subordinate, if the weeks antics were any example of future behavior. But, just right in about every other way.

Well, they would see.

Provided the night didn't bomb as bad as her last date had. It would take some doing, but if her string of seemingly bad, mixed at best, luck held, she might just be looking at another FUBAR disaster. Something to add to the litany of failed romances in her wake. All one of them. Plus a few false starts, but those didn't really count, did they?

The ringing of the bell stirs Korra from the rabbit hole. Half of her expects to see a pair of MP's, white letters on their caps and killjoy looks on their faces.

Instead, it's beauty, framed by flying leaves. Her hair whips like in one of those air-machine enhanced adverts for shampoo, or conditioner, or burger chains during the Super Bowl (for some reason). Lips the same shade of red she wore to the party a week prior, windbreaker failing miserably at breaking the wind. Some manner of band shirt under that, but can't quite catch who as the lettering has faded so, coming to a stop just at the edge of her skinny jeans.

_I want her…_

_I want to be with her…_

_That's why the fuck I'm here. Asami, Goddamn Sato! That's why!_

Eyes meet and she waves, meekly, forcing down a blush. Korra Waters doesn't blush on a first date. She'll do it all the time in the bedroom, gladly. 'Specially if someone knows what they're doing.

Not now, though. She would be polite, courteous, and fucking hopeless, _ohmygod she's waving back!_

_Stay calm! Be cool!_

“Hey,” they driver greets, sliding across from her, brushing her hair until it calmed a little. At least enough to lay by her head. Flitting green eyes meet her blues for a second, then dart to the side at almost the same moment Korra's do. “You look good.”

“Th-thanks, uh, thanks,” Korra replies, all those opening lines she'd practiced on the way over fading to nothing when the time came. “You look great, too.”

_Smooth, Waters…_

_Like a road made of broken glass._

All she got as a reply was a quiet “Thanks,” followed by an oppressive silence. One that ticks by, full of abortive attempts and much tapping of toes. Their eyes had met, at the very least, so that was something. Eyes that swerved between nervous and intent almost as quickly as Korra's own mood swings.

One minute, she's ready to leap in at the deep end. Shoot the shit like one of the parties they had met at, every sentence dripping with innuendo and bravado.

Then, she realizes that isn't the sort of thing normal people do on dates, quickly following up by remembering that she had no fucking clue how to date in the first place. What questions to ask, when to ask them, all those basic skills elude her at this time.

Might have something to do with the only girlfriend the young woman ever had turning out to be a complete psychopath, when all was said and done.

After just staring at each other long enough to be able to count every pore on Asami's face the urge to say something overtook nervous muteness. “I'm gonna be perfectly honest here, I have no idea how to talk to you,” the officer admitted, leaning closer. Like proximity would make putting the words passed her lips any easier.

Blink, blink.

Just like the stunned look at their 'introduction', poised at the doors of her black Ford.

“Oh, thank god, I thought it was just me,” hisses the driver, an expression of utter relief coming over her features. “That makes this **so** much easier.”

And so they laugh, ice breaking with every chuckle. Amused at their own incompetence, smiling at stupidity. Both of them wound so tight in anticipation that they didn't think about what came after hello. Luckily, once the first hurdle was leaped, the others just lay down to be stepped over.

“So, I guess it's a little pointless asking you how you've been?” Korra chuckles, scratching at her chin as the water is brought over and menus lain out.

Tucking a raven strand behind her ear, Asami just smiles back.

It's a simple thing, but a pretty one, nonetheless. Backed up by all that lip thrown her way during the week. The woman even the almighty, ass-kicking, mudhole stomping boot of the United States Army couldn't kick the attitude from.

As evidenced by: “Well, I mean, I've got a new boss at work, if you want to hear about that? A real stick up the backside type, you know. Pulling rules out of her who knows where and beating me over the head with them.” Grin grows with every word, clearly relishing the opportunity to politely vent herself. Just friendly banter, even if it pokes at Korra's professional pride, a little.

“Funny thing, you see, I've got a new driver that's been driving me mad, all week,” the CO pokes back. She knows this game. Did her own bellyaching on the day-to-day grind of a junior officer.

Only, hers tended to by sent into the wall of her room, since the other Lieutenant's tend to turn her way with their bitching.

“Hey, I've got to keep up appearances,” the woman shrugs, spinning the laminate list of dinner grime her way. “I've got a reputation to look after, don't I? Besides, nothing's more fun than watching you squirm. You're cute when you're frustrated.”

_That explains a few things…_

Whipping her own menu into sight, Korra peruses the pickings. Typical Americana offerings. Burgers, chicken sandwich, a couple steaks, and a moderate seafood selection (all battered and fried). There's the salads, too, but they lack the flair of a food-coma inducing slab of meat and potatoes.

“Is the ribeye any good?” her date asks, just as the tanker has switched to picking her sides.

“Yeah. The sirloin’s a little better, I think.”

The sound of the folder swinging closed, sending a puff her way. Decisions had been made, it seems. Not all that hard to make her own, if she's honest.

“So, where's home for you?” Asami asks once they've both settled on their choices.

It was a reasonable place to start. A nice tame question, and easy enough to answer. “Here, there, and everywhere, most of my life,” Korra says, flagging down the nearest gossiping waitress. It would take her a few minutes to tear herself away, yet, so there was plenty of time for elaboration. “Dad got transferred around more than most. I think the longest I spent anywhere was two years until high school. He put his foot down and I spent a few years in San Antonio. How about you?”

Impressed laughter precedes the answer. “Nothing as interesting as that,” Asami says, trying to lower expectations that weren't there in the first place. Anything was sure to be interesting, enthralling, if it came from those lips. “Split it between New York and D.C.. Busy life of a Congressman's daughter.”

“What was that like?”

“About what you would expect,” she shrugs, seemingly indifferent to the affair. “Lots of PR and campaign stuff. Waving for the camera.” Miming a choreographed, rigid motion with her hand, the new girl rolls her eyes. “Honestly, half the reason why I joined was so I didn't have to put up with that stuff, anymore,” she kids, before catching herself and clarifying, “Well, not half, but you know what I mean.”

Any response she had was put on hold for the prompt arrival and interruption of Margie. “What'll it be, girls?”

“You wanna go first?”

“No you go ahead,” the officer insists, sneakily sliding her wallet out of her pocket early. She would win the sprint to that objective, if none other, tonight.

Turning the page, the beauty lists: “I'll have the sirloin, medium rare, with mashed potatoes, and the house salad, please. Ranch for the dressing, on the side. And a Dr Pepper, with no ice, if it's not too much trouble?”

“Not at all, sweety,” the older woman says, jotting down the order with quick flashes. “The usual for you, dear?”

“You know it,” Korra replies with a smile and a nod, tucking her menu away. There was only one thing she ever got at the 95, the best damn steak sandwich to grace this world since man first ate cow. Enough to make her mouth water from the other side of the world. “Can I just have extra fries, though? Doc Brown's telling me to lay off the green stuff.”

A snort from across the table. Look up to see the most adorable face in the world, teetering on the verge of laughter.

They're left with some rolls and cornbread.

And each other.

Smiles on their faces, naive hope in her heart. That this may be the first of many dates. Something special. Oh, she so wants it to be. “Did I say something funny?” she asks, perfectly innocently, putting some more cracks in the restraint of her rendezvous.

“No,” Legs denies, letting a hand drift her way across the gap. “Nothing at all.”

“S'what I thought.”

And there it went, Asami broke down into giggles at the lightest prompting. Her eyes were life itself, happiness dancing in them, brighter than any flare. It was contagious, with the officer soon joining in with the merriment. Laughing at herself, and enjoying every second. Smiling like a damn idiot, and not giving a damn how stupid she might look.

Letting go was so easy. Comfortable.

Before she even knew what was happening, she felt that hand in hers. Moving of its own accord, it had bridged the gap in an instant. They both look at it, but neither move away from the contact.

_Fuck my life…_

_I've got it real bad for her, don't I?_

“So...” the NCO begins when that all dies down, leveling off into a more reasonable calm.

“So?”

“I saw you had a CIB, what's the story behind that?” The question has an innocent curiosity behind it. That of the new blood asking advice of her senior.

Unfortunately, it was as far from a first-date topic she could have picked. From an easy conversation starter to the exact opposite in a heartbeat. Just, BAM, and they were in the heavy stuff in an instant. The things you never tell the relatives at the Thanksgiving dinner-table, only vaguely grunting about them to your fellows after copious amounts of liquor have been consumed.

At least, that's how she was planning on dealing with it.

That bit of metal in her gut starts to burn, elated at its mention. She shifts to quiet it. Grimaces a little as she takes time to think. Self-edit all the unpleasant bits around the edges for that nice memoir-worthy, washed-out story. More than a few of those to trim to get it there.

“Well, I went to Infantry School, first,” Korra provides, stretching each syllable out to give herself more time to think. _Could really use some help, right now, brain!_ “Ended up basically like you. Tossed into a unit about to go on tour. Good bunch of guys, for the most part. CO was a bit of an old-schooler, though. Ended up on shit detail around Camp for most of the time, to be honest with you, 'cause he didn't think women belonged in the field. Dickhead.”

They both tut the old ways. Ragged tradition, behind the times. Trapped in a world that never existed.

Something in her eyes, those pretty eyes, changes. A flash of recognition that the topic wasn't a comfortable one. That any further would spoil the mood. “Yeah, my first Platoon Sergeant was like that,” Asami moans, rolling her eyes for added effect, “Had me run maintenance all the time.”

“Not a bad life.”

“Fucking boring, s'what it was,” the driver insists, popping a little corner of cornbread in her mouth as a test. Eyes light up with her taste buds, and more is quickly added to the sample. “Like watching paint dry, in real time. Just mind-numbing.”

A smirk crosses Korra's face as she pulls a roll from the basket. “You complain a lot about the Army for an E-5.”

Another shrug as butter is sourced, hands parting in the act. Immediately, she wishes it back. It felt right in hers. Warm and soft, just getting rougher towards the palm. Hands of someone that worked with them. Enjoys doing so, even if she pretends not to. “I like to think of us as a married couple,” the woman explains, splitting her bread in twain to smear it with spread, “We get along, but we're comfortable enough to point out each-other's flaws.”

“That's the service in a nutshell,” Lieutenant Waters hums in agreement, mind swimming with all the things she wished to say about the Colonel on a daily basis.

“You, on the other hand, seem to thrive in the olive-drab world,” Asami states around her buttered cornmeal, having forgotten manners in pursuit of its deliciousness. She swallows, pointing her dates way with a knife. “Army brat, right?”

“What tipped you off?”

“Other than the fact you basically told me, five minutes ago?” It's an easy tease for her to make. Low-hanging fruit, really. Nowhere near her best work. But it makes Korra smile just a little bit more than before, just the same. “You wear it well. The green, I mean. Seeing you out of it is kinda weird, if I'm honest.”

With raised brow, the would-be paymaster of the night chose defend her honor. “Did you just call me weird?”

Her face screws up, just for a second, as she took her turn to choose words. Sort them in a way that would get her point across with minimal sass and maximum effect. “It's just-” She pauses again, looks down at the table, hint of a blush in her cheeks. “-how you walk.”

_How I walk? I walk GI?_

“You watch how I walk?”

_God damnit, brain! That is not the question you were supposed to ask! What was wrong with the other two, you fucking failure?!_

Asami makes a noise that the officer has never heard from her before. A little squeak of… embarrassment? It was the second most adorable sound to issue from any human, ever. Second only to the little begging noises she made when words left her in the bedroom.

_Brain, you are forgiven._

“Not in a creepy way,” she insists, more surely than Korra would have been able after that sort of slip up. When their eyes meet there's a little smile in them. Kind, but also nervous. A different kind of nerves than the ones making the tanker's belly tickle. It's this certain primal fear that she felt in times of danger, laid bare in seas of green. “You just have this confidence when you do things. A little swagger in your step. Like you know what you're doing.”

With a laugh, Korra breaks the tension as soon at the last word flies. “That's nice to hear, 'cause I have no clue what I'm doing right now.”

Softer snickers are returned, interrupted by the wafting smell of sizzling beef. What a glorious smell. Both women's stomachs growl, seemingly competing to be the most hungry for the coming meal.

“That's everything,” the waitress says, laying out a feast for them. “Look good to you, girls?”

“Amazing,” both say as one, grabbing cutlery and digging in, immediately. Knife and fork dance upon tender sirloin, glazed in herbs and peppercorns. Ketchup is tucked into the one corner not overburdened by crisp, fried potatoes. A little seasoning and shifting of garnishes as a final touch to the affair.

First bites are had.

“Oh, god,” Asami sighs, in almost erotic pleasure as the meat hit her tongue. Her utensils fall, and she just… chews. “This is the best steak I've ever had.”

“Glad to hear it,” her date says, enjoying her favorite reward meal. Steak cuttings, done medium on the grill, smothered in grilled mushrooms and onion, topped with molten Swiss and just a touch of thousand island dressing. “Guess that means I don't have to bumble through small-talk anymore.”

Emeralds snap to meet her blues, gifting her the perfect stink-eye. “Oh, no you don't,” the ebony-maned driver warns, pointing a finger glazed in steak juice her way. “I'm not near done picking your brain, just yet.”

“Okay, then,” Korra accepts, swallowing down her first fry with great enthusiasm. “How about sports? You like anything?”

“I played soccer, pretty much all the way through school, but I don't keep up with it,” the party girl replies after her own chunk of meat has dissolved on her tongue. “Used to watch some Champion's League stuff, and I'll suit up for the World Cup, but-” Her shoulders raise in a kind of apology, hands till lifting the next morsel to ruby lips. “Don't know what to tell you?”

“Were you any good?” TC Waters inquires, immediately putting two and two together in her mind. That little bounce in every step, the sleek smoothness to ever motion.

An athlete's body. One that had never lapsed in care or training. Taut sinew kept such by careful regime and sheer determination. More than the Army could whip out of a raw recruit, and far more impressive now that she knew. Suspected, whatever.

_Must be where those legs came from._

_And her stamina._

Sipping her straw, drawing dark caramel liquid to slake her thirst, Legs took her time to answer. “Average,” she says at last, looking up with impassivity in her amazing eyes.

Korra's lips twitch. “I can't imagine you being 'average' at anything.”

“Thank you, flatterer,” the fabulous dancer chortles, such amused affection in her pretty face. Fingers brush the officer's, ending up on top this time. They squeeze, just a little. Enough for the smooth texture to imprint on chestnut skin. “But, I mean it. I was on a good team, and all, but I got carried to pretty much everything.”

“Really?”

It seemed unlike Asami to not excel. If records were to be believed, she made a habit of it. A near spotless disciplinary section was her calling card, only a couple, minor hiccups in her early days. All her promotions on time, if not early. Stellar recommendations from her last Battalion XO.

An Army golden girl. The kind that brass love to stick in promo pieces.

_Well, while she's in uniform, at least._

“I played utility, mostly,” Asami hums, stopping to enjoy more red meat while the officer practically inhales her sandwich. “Third-string goalie, second-string forward. Pretty much spent most of my time kicking around midfield, trying to stay out of the way.”

A desire to hear more stirs Korra into a further question, sure that something must be hidden. “How good is 'good'?”

“We went to state, once.”

“Win?”

“Nope,” she denies, perfectly content with the answer. “But, it was the most fun I ever had playing the game. I'll never forget it.”

Korra knew that feeling. The rush of adrenaline with everything on the line. Heart hammering in her ears, clock ticking down to glorious victory or soul-crushing defeat. Feet pounding up the court, sneakers squeaking on the waxed wooden floor. Apprehension as the buzzer nears. Will the last shot land? Or will I whiff it in the panic?

“I bet,” the driver hums in the interim her silence left, “I bet you played basketball.”

“Did the trophy on my shelf tell you that?”

“Might have done.” Her smile is a cheeky one, full of mirth and enjoyment nothing to do with the fantastic meal. It's nice to look at. More than nice, really. The kind of smile the love-starved woman watching it grow could get lost in, long after it fades from vision. “I, kinda, took a peek on the way out of your place. Caught my eye on the way in.”

Sad memories.

Rejection and shame. Tainted romance to cap off the best night of lovemaking Korra could ever remember.

Enough of that. They were together, now. A more than pleasant evening being shared. One that may lead to others. Lead to more nights like the last. Full of worry, like this one, but more than worth the consequences.

Damn, it felt like she was worth it.

“I also know you're a Spurs fan,” the pretty thing pokes fun, removing her hand to take a drink. “A signed jersey, really?”

“Hey, Tim Duncan is amazing!”

It takes them a while to get passed that point, Korra futilely trying to explain the power forward to an utterly oblivious Asami. Every stat line is met with teasing, all her praise falls on deaf ears. The teasing tossed her way, and at her idol, is all in high spirits, though.

Sport runs itself out as a topic, after a while. Once the TC has had enough of bashing her head against the wall, that is. But words continue to bounce between them, almost unbroken.

They chat through the rest of the meal, and beyond. About the little quirks of life in the service, comparing the bases they had served on, the little traditions they had picked up along the way. Humming and drumming some inconveniences, here and there, but always in good fun. Less fun, a few more tales of getting sidelined by the old school, whistled at by the young. Amusing stories and anecdotes are shared to get the mood back, in a mostly PG vein, over slices of pie and coffee.

Time passes them by in a blur. Minutes turn to hours, sat in their little corner of the world, draining cup after cup of hot caffeine.

It amazes Korra how easy it is to talk to this woman. How big her smile is. The way their hands keep finding each other. She's quick to laugh, quicker to joke, quickest to smile. Simple fun, but more so than anything has been in recent memory.

Other patrons come and go, but they remain oblivious, wandering down increasingly random tangents. They are the only ones that matter to the other. Fascinating little things. Tedious little things. Fact that don't matter, but matter more than everything. Fears, phobias, and faux pas shared freely, without shame or judgment. Drinking coffee and laughing at the same jokes that they've heard half-a-dozen times on this day.

It's 2200 when they're finally asked to clear the table. Margie smiles at them, as though genuinely sorry to see them go.

Despite the time having passed, Korra still manages to get the jump on the check, adding a hefty tip for putting up with them for so long. Sure, she gets a narrow look for her troubles, but it's more than worth the price. Store-brand meals for a few more days was nothing.

Sliding from the booth, realization dawns. The night is coming to an end.

She doesn't want it to. Any excuse for a few more minutes. Walk as slow as possible to the door, even slower as the night sky opens up over them. Jackets buffet, the door almost hitting her in the face as it comes back swinging. The fresh smell of fallen rain, happy grass. A storm had blown in and out, again, as they sat in bliss.

Nerves start up, just as soon as they are out into the public eye. Each passing car becomes a threat. Someone that might recognize them, turn them in, end the only lifestyle she's ever known.

The woman beside her seems utterly unconcerned, at least on the outside. “This was fun,” she says, catching Korra's hand in hers. They turn to face each other, placed right at the headlights of the Camaro. “We should do it, again, sometime.”

 _We shouldn't. We really shouldn't,_ the more rational part of the officer's brain tries to say, words dieing on her tongue.

What comes out instead is a quiet, hopeful, “Yeah.”

“So...”

“So?”

A twinkle of mischief in those eyes. One she's already more than familiar with. Mingling with it is a hint of something else. A longing, almost lusting hunger. The one they shared at each of their stumblings upon. Desire and delight. “I'm off tomorrow, if you want to do anything,” Asami suggests, playing up the innocence. “Catch a movie, get a couple drinks-”

“Go to a party?”

Lips graze hers in a flash of impulse. There and gone in a flash. A kiss that stirs a desire for more, draws her in to chase a second meeting.

“I think we can cut out the middleman, Korra,” the driver chuckles against the second kiss. When they come apart, hands find themselves shoved in pockets to keep them from wandering. This was good enough on its own. More than, in fact. “We're big girls.”

“I call you, you call me?” Lieutenant Waters whispers.

She just leaves her with a smile, not bothering to answer. Hair whips that cherry-blossom perfume into the breeze as Asami draws keys from her pocket and spins them on her finger. A tantalizing wave in goodbye, almost beckoning to follow. whatever plans the woman has entirely are kept entirely to herself.

And Korra wouldn't have it any other way.

“Fuck my life,” the woman breathes, slumping on the hood of her car.

Sure, the inevitable panic-attack that she felt building would make sleep tonight difficult, but she wouldn't trade it for a million pleasant dreams. She'd just live one.

And tomorrow might be even better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how's that for a first date? Give your opinion, if you care to. It would really give me a smile.
> 
> Next time, the girls get a little more exercise. And it is the kind you're thinking of, this time. Smut and cuddling after, with some important questions raised.
> 
> Many thanks for reading, Humble
> 
> JMStei: Hope you enjoyed the adorkableness in this chapter, see you all soon!


	9. Hotel Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet. Make love. Have a tiny chat. Not a bad evening, all things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it, or not, I'm not all that comfortable writing smut. This has taken more than a month to do, and has gone through some pretty major changes and rewrites. Hope you like the finished product.

Driving down the empty road, street lamps lighting up her car's interior, Korra knows this is a terrible idea. She knows it as the nav on her phone directs her to the out of the way Motel 6 they had chosen as their rendezvous. As she takes the final turn, sighting the blue and red sign in the distance, she shakes. Parking in the lot, door to door with that black Ford, her stomach twists.

Text on her phone reads: _Room 203. I'm waiting._

Waiting for her.

Waiting for sex. Forbidden sex. Delightful, carnal, passionate sex. All strings, all danger. Ready to take the fall for both of them.

“Fuck my life,” the LT says, resting her head on the steering-wheel. So wet, between her leg. Her sex throbs with every heartbeat. It wants her, and so does she. Her eyes, her fingers, her lips, her tongue, her thrusts. Only that will do. “This is such a bad idea.”

She should turn around, head back to base or her apartment. Let off some steam with her own hand and bring this farcical chapter of her life to a close. Fingers clench the key in the ignition, turn it to idle. Blink and see her, looking up from between her legs, satisfied and hungry. Again and it's her regretful face, saddened by circumstance and lies.

_I want to be with her._

_I want to make her smile._

“Let's do this.”

Grab her duffel, full of toiletries and a change of clothes. She'd thought to bring the strap along, as well, tossing it in and out of the bag every couple of minutes as she prepared. Finally decided to hedge her bets. Bringing the toy and leaving it unused would better than wishing for it later.

Up the stairs, find the room. Windows on either side are dark. So are most the ones she passes. Convenient. Means they won't have to keep quiet.

Knock. Once, twice.

Wait awkwardly for the door to open. Scan the area for people watching, parked cars. Anything or anyone that might blow their cover. Ca-click, and creaking hinges, a thin crack appears. “Oh, it's you,” the sergeant says, softly. “Come in.”

Bare looking room, not that it mattered. Desk, old tv, queen-sized bed. Bigger than hers at home was. Plenty of room to have fun in, providing it was even moderately comfortable.

_Well, someone splurged._

“I was starting to think you weren't coming,” the woman attempts to chat, shutting and locking the door behind them. She's dressed much as she usually was. Comfy tee with an abstract pattern printed on it, hip hugging skinny jeans that showed off how tight her butt was. An added accessory in her tags, hanging down over the cotton. They made for excellent fidget toys when you were waiting on something.

“The thought crossed my mind.” The admission just kind of tumbles out, ruining what little mood there was. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Asami waves off, standing awkwardly with her back against the wall. “I get it. Fuck, I've probably been feeling the same thing for a lot longer than you have.” That does not help things, either. Rather, it stokes a little residual ire over their circumstances. The NCO smiles apologetically at the little gaff. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” _Seriously, please don't fucking talk about it._

Neither of them are the first to move. A stand off. Korra can't take her eyes off those plump lips she wants to kiss so bad, held back by the prospect of being the one to break the deadlock.

“So, how are we doing this?” the driver asks, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear.

The officer shrugs. “Fuck if I know, Se-” she catches herself mid-word. They aren't on base, they aren't on duty. They're having an illicit affair, against regulations, tradition, and everything her father had ever taught her. Rank and title were about as useful to her as tits on a frog. “Asami. Guess we just... do our normal thing.”

A tentative step forwards. “So, um, kissing then?”

“Sounds about right.” Just inches away, already. Scent of cherry blossoms overpowering, intoxicating. Familiar and addictive.

For the first time, ever, it's hard to kiss her. Awkward, halting. The first little peck makes her stomach clench as nausea bubbles. Hand rests on her shoulder, another hesitantly grazing her hip. Respond with her own gestures, on neck and side.

Pull her closer, try again.

Try to capture that magic from before. The chemistry she had sensed at their first meeting. When she first saw her, first heard her voice, smelled her unique bouquet, tasted the sweetness of her lips. And other things. Cramped confines of her sports car, light creaking of the suspension, all but drowned out by her moans.

_I want to hear her moan, again._

_One_

_More_

_Time…_

Kiss her, but mean it, this time. Sharp inhale from them both. Another hit of her perfume. Or maybe that's just what she always smells like. Like heaven.

Again, claim her lips. Shift to press her palm into the small of the woman's back, bringing her body closer still. So close she can feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest. Or maybe it's Korra's own, thundering in her ears as nervous anxiety and lust mingle into one. Tongue seeks entrance to seal the night. Condemn them to taboo and vice.

Granted.

They meet, and everything just clicks. It's this, this feeling, that she wanted. What drove her to come in the first place. Overrode everything else in the officer's mind. Because kissing **Her** was so much better than anyone else.

Asami's lips against her own.

Asami's hands pulling at her shirt.

Asami's moan as she was gently spun and backed up against the wall.

Lift her knee into the woman's groin, grind it on her core. Maybe it's just wishful, out of her mind horny thinking, but she still feels wet on her leg, even through all the layers.

Whether she is or isn't, the Sergeant still hums with pleasure. Then she whimpers as her CO pulls at her lip with sharp teeth. “This is such a bad idea,” Korra says, raising her arms so her shirt can be cast aside.

“Yeah,” her lover sighs, with lips on her neck, stepping out of her pants and kicking them aside.

“So gonna get caught,” the lovestruck idiot states, not slowed down for even a second. Too busy leaning back so Legs can pop the front clasp on her bra. Shrug out of the straps, desperately ignoring the hand that immediately latches onto her breast, and claim her lips once more.

Swallow down her moan, richer than any food. Fingers slide down the beauty's front, finding dampness at their goal. “Ha, you're w-worth it though,” the driver whimpers, finding relief in the pressure through her satin veil. Lean back and see her go red. Embarrassment or arousal? Impossible to tell, and too much to hope for one. Hurt her heart to think it. “Fuck, you're so good.”

“Bed?” she asks as nails bite into the skin of her back, making her hiss.

“Bed,” Asami nods, pressing on her CO's sternum, lightly. They trip and stumble to the edge of the mattress.

Hands push on her chest, casting her back onto the surprisingly comfortable platform. Yes, this would do for a final acts glorious, but understated, stage. A fitting enough place to lay as her lover reaches down to the hem of her shirt.

Up and up, in slow strip-tease. Made a show of it. Slow, excruciatingly slow. Flaunting her tits, shaking her hips. It felt like Korra should be tossing showers of singles her way, fives after that. Maybe just start with hundreds. Paying triple-price for a private lap dance. Yes, Miss Sato was an expert at her craft.

At seduction.

Sensuality.

Likely, at stealing hearts, as well.

The jealous dragon in the tanker's gut growled at that idea. She wanted to be the only person to see her like this. The only one to have ever done so.

Ever.

What a shame that had turned into a pipe dream.

Korra discards her pants and shoes with far less fanfare, simply casting them on the floor. Kicking them off the bed, lower lip chewed in her teeth the whole time. Even a dream, an insane fantasy, was enough to have her mouth watering, her legs quivering, turn her underwear into a sodden puddle. Oh, who was she kidding? A sultry look across the room from the woman did much the same.

Hell, one word did.

One flip of the hair or shifting of her hips.

“Fuck, you're so goddamn sexy,” she compliments huskily, drinking in the tall glass of water on offer.

More black lace, with red trim this time. Such contrast with her pale skin. It would be a shame to take them off. Tarnish the artistry of her choices

A final flourish, spinning her tags on her finger, launching them over her lover's shoulder to land at the head of the bed. “What can I say?” the woman purrs, blowing a Marilyn Monroe esque kiss her way, pouty lips and all, “I like dressing up for you, Korra. Like the way you look at me when I do.”

 _Like the Goddess of Sex and Beauty? 'Cause that's what you look like. Fuckin' A!_ “I'm going to fuck you so hard,” the second-generation soldier shudders, mind going blank as perfect breast are revealed for her, and only her, to see.

Spread her legs. Instinct. Expose herself to Asami, no matter how her heart hurt to do so.

A knee takes up the place between hers. Fingers press into her abs. Eyes locked, unwavering in lust, but shaking in every other. “Promises, promises...”

Something about the way she's touching her seems off. Halting, awkward even. While still, clearly, enjoying the way her hands were panning over Korra's hard earned washboard, there was a touch of caution in her smile. Beneath the predatory hunger, the wanton lust for her CO's body, a slim sliver of concern, trepidation. Like she didn't know what to do next.

“Are you okay?” the straddled woman asks, laying a hand atop one that had stilled, just above her navel.

A nod, swift but jerky. “Yeah,” she breathes, a little sadly. More friendliness is added to her smile than before, as desire seems to ebb, a tad. “Sorry, I was just… thinking, about things. You know how it is.”

_Yeah…_

__Yeah, I really do…_ _

“Want to call it a night?” Korra offered, seeing the way the winds were blowing. Even if every fiber of her being desperately wanted this to never end.

Laughter. Hungry, seductive giggling. Fingertips trace fresh veins of hot fire upon her skin. Brushing her hand ever so gently to the side, they rose to just below the swell of her chest. “Are you kidding me?” Asami teases, with a little shake of her head. _Yes, Asami._ Name sweeter than ever on her tongue, now it were being stolen away. Back down, again, nails tenderly digging at her skin. “I'm not giving you up for a good, **_long_ ** , while.” Up, once more, just skirting her breasts, this time. “Not until I make this a night you'll never forget.” Down. “Not until I make you scream.”

**_Breathe!_ **

She'd forgotten to do that. Take a shuddering, juddering breath. Like she's just come up from being submerged too long.

Drowning in endless seas of green.

Pant as hands, those perfect, skillful hands, lift her cleavage. Leg presses against her sex. “I-I want you,” Korra whimpers, more hopeless than her first time, by a hundred fold. More desperate than their last outing. How had she already forgotten? How good she felt against her? The way her eyes set a hopeful heart to hammering?

Lips, so plump and kissable.

_Have to kiss them. One more time. Like it's the last._

“I **_need_ ** you,” the woman's reply, slowly, so slowly, coming closer, dipping her head all the while. “That's the word you're looking for.”

Spread. Even further. Ready herself to be claimed. “Take me...” half an order, half a plea.

“Yes, Ma'am...” A hissing, erotic hum as tongue darts to circle a rock hard nip. Then, just as slowly as the approach, the bud is enveloped by ruby gates.

It's back.

That feeling of endless bliss. Above and beyond what any other had stoked. The hand that wove into her hair, halfway torn between just holding her there and drawing her up for a meeting of the lips. With a shifting of her hips, though, the Sergeant tore such thought from her mind. That and sweet pressure of that long, supple leg, pressing against her core.

In kind, slick fabric, smooth, silky, and hot, presses on her thigh, risen high as every muscle tenses in anticipation. As if realizing, and surprised, the woman moans into her flesh, just in time to mingle with her own. Up Korra's leg goes, grinding on such soft sex. Lifting her, breaking her hold, shifting Asami's so it pressed into a spot, so sweet. With a pop, lips break from her skin, cool air soon rushing in to replace delightful warmth.

Feel it tighten.

Feel fingers come to roll the painfully sharp tip between them.

“You're so wet,” the Lieutenant growls, mingling marvel with a taunt. Look down into seas of emerald green. Burn their memory deep. Forever remember what the look like.

“You're one to talk,” says the driver, chewing on her lip. Trying to restrain herself, though from what, her commander couldn't tell. It's not as if she didn't take advantage. “You pass any wet tee-shirt contests on the way here, or is this all for me?”

Harsh tweak, little squeak. “You,” Korra professes, “all for you, babe.”

Kiss, soft kiss, right between the top of her breasts. “S'what I thought,” Asami chuckles, cockily, projecting her trip downwards. Slinking, snaking, sneaking, a hand worms its way between them. Its goal, obvious. Mission, clear. Orders, crystal. “Scream for me...”

Hard not to as they skip the little eccentricities that made their sessions special. This time there was no pulling of garments, just an angling of fingers to get under the pesky thing. Brushing through her curls, palming her aching sex. No entry, not that fast, but the pressure she earned was less focused than usual. Big circles on her folds, timed to match the infrequent grinding on her leg. Exactly which Korra found the more relieving of her 'itch' varies, second to second, swaying wildly with her moans.

“How's that, baby?” Asami purrs, teasing more satisfying things with every expert flick of her palm. So close. To having those fingers. Long, nimble, perfect fingers. Right where she needed them.

So much for taking charge. Pulling at her pants, again, now. Brusk circles having been abandoned. “Fuck, you've ruined me,” Korra sighs without realizing the words had escaped the cage of her deepest thoughts.

Only when she hears a husky, “Same here,” does she.

Cover the blush on her cheeks with an arm across her face. Hiss as fingers leave lines of fire on her skin. Free hand wanders up her side, having abandoned holding their bodies apart.

Breast on her stomach. Soft pillows with dagger tips.

Lips, both cool and hot, everywhere the woman can reach from her spot. Sucking, licking, nibbling all the skin in her arc. She doesn't care that the hand between her leg has stilled, for the scent of her hair sends her higher and higher into ecstasy with every breath. Each moment more fulfilling than the last as she holds the nymph to her chest. Dig in her nails as Asami works herself on the knee between her legs.

“Kiss me,” the TC begs as fingers return to her flower, in a more directed assault, this time.

“Which end am I supposed to be kissing?” the driver jokes, lifting herself to leave a hot, wet trail up Korra's neck. Sucking on her pulse, nuzzling her face to one side, then, sharp teeth on her ear. Whispers into it. Filthy things. Wonderful things. Promises and requests. “You want me, bad, don’t you? Want me to fuck you, just right. Keep you going, over and over again. All.” Kiss, “Night.” Kiss. “Long.” Teeth graze the tender flesh of her throat.

Little laugh, buried amid the moans. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” the officer sighs in a moment of relative respite. Until a single finger drags along her entrance. Teasing, preparing.

On her cheek, now. Getting closer, ever closer. Slow, but steady. Let her do it, drag things out. There'd be time for revenge, later. “Say my name,” her lover growls, tongue flitting at the corner of her mouth. Demonstrate, grab handfuls of her softest flesh and knead them while their lips meet.

 _This must be what heaven feels like_ , Korra decides, here and now. “Asami...”

Nothing in this world, or any other, could feel better than this moment. Heart, not her own, hammering against her chest. Hand pressed between them, trapped by its owner's weight, but still livelier than the entire outside world. Rolling, pinching, pulling her nipple 'til it forms into the stiffest point. Almost painful, but not quite. Mouth, a battlefield, tongues and lips dancing like duelists. First one with the advantage, then the other. Fingers running through ebony silk. Tugging, lightly as her lungs burned for air.

And then…

Breathless gasps, breaking one bond between them as another takes its place. With a finger, just a single finger, Asami had made her mind go white. Sliding in without warning, or prompting. Just, knowing… “I think, I think I'm gonna come.”

“Not yet,” the woman coaxes, nibbling on an open earlobe with pointed teeth.

“Oh, god,” the tanker shudders when the stimulation doesn't stop, even for a moment. Rather, another finger gains entrance to her quivering flower, gliding over her swollen bud. Hard to catch her breath, combination of building tension and Asami's weight restricting her to desperate gasps. Not that she'd trade it for anything in this world. “Make me come. Asami, please...”

Kiss, deep and passionate, silences her. Everything else stops as they mingle. Hand from her breast rises to cup her cheek. Her own bury themselves in the roots of the woman's hair.

“Shut up,” the low chuckle as they part, eyes burning into hers, lustful as they've ever been. Maybe more so. No time to ponder, fingers stirring up her insides. Thrusting, pressing, spreading, grinding. Palm on her mound, chests rising in perfect time. “S'not my fault you're all sensitive.”

“A-are y-you calling me s-sensitive?” Korra scoffs, despite the way she was shivering with need. Her lips, wanting for something do, fell open so her groans and squeaks were free to escape.

“Damn straight I am, you lightweight.”

 _That's it! No more Miss Nice Korra!_ “I s-swear, w-when you're d-done,” the Lieutenant promises her secret lover, now teetering on the edge, “I-I'm gonna, I'm gonna f-fuck you til you can't walk.”

She was a living symphony as eyes flutter closed. Music dances before her eyes. All the world is reduced to the lips on her throat, teeth grazing her skin, breast on hers.

So soft…

So warm…

So **_alive…_ **

Feels so good, every moment. Mind goes blank with each of them.

It's a single word that pushes Korra over the edge. Whispered into her ear from smiling lips. “Deal...”

To her surprise, she crests quietly. No exclamations or screams of ecstasy. Just a single, shuddering sigh to announce her climax. Some quiet curses follow as she's dragged out what seems like hours. Intense beyond comprehension, pleasure beyond compare.

Back to earth, gasping for air. Finding only a kiss to get lost in as they moaned into each other. Had she come, too? Brought to the brink by rubbing herself on Korra's thigh.

_God, I hope so._

“How was that?” the breathless question in her ear. Sweat on her brow catches some stray strands of midnight. “Unforgettable?”

Seize those ruby lips, plump and sweet on hers. Stop those stupid questions they both knew the answer to. Hands sent down to hold that perfect rear, coaxing it up her body. “I don't think my legs are working so good, right now,” she tells her lover as the motion breaks them apart. It was her turn to trail kisses on pale skin, leaving faint marks as they went. Slow, so slow. “You're gonna have to come up here.”

“I'm already most of the way there,” Asami sighs, cheekily, bringing soft laughs to each of them as the attention grows firmer beneath the neckline.

Hickies. It's been years since she left those. Years since she even thought of leaving one. Now, it's a struggle not to leave a mark on every bit of territory that comes her way. Claim it as hers, just for a while. Just for the night.

Korra chuckles, giving the Sergeant's backside a slap that makes her shudder. “Don't worry,” she smiles, playing with a pert pink nip on her tongue, “I'm gonna take good care of you.”

“You brought the strap, didn't you?” the driver accuses as teeth pulled at her nubbin.

“Maybe.”

A low, expectant hum resonates into the officer's mouth, while goosebumps rise on the nymph's skin. It quickly turns into a needy whine as she finds herself held in place, breasts ravaged with an eager lust. Desire drives her lips to tease and taste in the same way as she had been. “You sure know how to treat a girl, Korra,” Asami shivers, looking down with eyes alight.

“So I've heard.” A taunt, a tease, and a guarantee all in one. That she'd be treated to every torture that had been given her commander. Repaid, in full, with interest. Such sweet interest. “Now, get your fine ass in gear. I've got work to do.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Legs happily agrees, freed to begin her accent.

Each kiss on smoothest skin brought the goal closer. That delicate flower cloaked in silk and nestled in perfect thighs. But the journey to it was almost as pleasant as what lay at the end. Getting to make her squirm and sigh, curse and moan, with every dart of her tongue. Taste of salt and sweat. How she shudders as the wall forces her to start to rise. That little giggle as Korra nuzzles aside her last bit of covering to get at her, proper.

This reversal of their last outing was exciting. To be looking up, rather than being looked at, gave the Lieutenant a thrill. She could torture as she had been tortured, now. Revenge for her loins.

_Nah!_

This was so much better. Holding Asami close to her lips, forcing it out of her. With each lick, kiss and suck another pretty moan. Soft and cooing, eyes begging, chest heaving. She's so close, and Korra can tell. By the way shivers run up her body with even the lightest breath against her clit, how she doesn't fight it, doesn't banter, doesn't tease.

Surrender to sensation.

Complete and total.

Abandoning herself to the lover under her. Holding desperate to the headboard with one hand as the other cups a breast.

“So good,” a prayer from parted lips, to herself, the world, or Korra. And then her world comes undone. It hasn't taken her a third the time that the woman servicing her had, but the result is much the same. Louder, yes, to be expected, but her body tremors just the same. Thighs tighten and press on flushed cheeks, a last flourish to seal the deal. One word echoes in the room as her lover releases herself. “Fffuuuuuuuuuck...”

_She's so beautiful…_

It was the only thing to come to mind as Korra brings on her lover's orgasm. Watches her whimper and writhe. Of course, she was always beautiful, but, in these moments, Korra could imagine none more gorgeous, none more happy. No one else that the officer would ever want to see this way.

Just Asami.

Only woman she wanted. Only one she had truly wanted in years. The one who filled that hole in her chest, just right. Who fell atop her in a quivering heap, desperate for kisses and dirty words. The one who smells of cherry blossoms, felt just perfect in her hands, curves that fit together with hers like they were built for each other.

“Y-your legs might not be working,” the green-eyed driver sighs between battles of tongue and lip. “But your mouth sure is.”

Korra laughs, full and deep. The irony was not beyond her. That the woman who she suspected was about fifty-percent sass by volume was talking about her mouth gave no small amount of amusement. And she relished every bit of it. “I am just that good, ain't I?” the Lieutenant teases, at last feeling a little strength return to the lower half of her body.

With it, she rolls them, pining Asami to the mattress under her. Always liked being on top of a cuddle, for some reason. Something loose in her head, most likely. Protective instinct, and all that.

A kiss. Sweet and deep.

“You're full of yourself is what you are,” the drivers pokes, quite literally, in fact. Prodding just below her ribs with a finger, just hard enough not to tickle. For some reason, it felt wonderfully intimate, in a much different way than the slowly renewing need between her legs. “I think someone ought to remind you who's boss between the bedsheets.”

A competitive hum, rising from deep in her chest.

_Did she just call herself the top?_

Look into that pretty face, full of confidence and a desire that seems more enhanced than tempered by her orgasm. Gives a taunting kiss to the air. Trying to provoke a rise. And damn if it wasn’t working.

_I think she just did…_

__Oh, this won’t do at all._ _

“But, not right now,” the woman sighs, fingers interlacing over the small of Korra's back. The forearm on one side just brushed the scar on her back.

Irritating, disturbing, unsettling the sensation. Setting all the bits inside her to itching like crazy.

Gone in an instant as she shifts an inch up. Free and clear of the spot, entirely. There's a smile on her lips the lieutenant can't bring herself to kiss away. A distilling of her personality into a single quirk of the lips. Rebellion and a love of life.

A hum reaches the officer's tongue from somewhere. Too content is she in the moment to care from where. “Your legs not working either?” Korra teases as fingers come apart to dance aimlessly on her skin. An almost ticklish sensation. Same patterns as always, just earlier in the proceedings than usual. “I think I can help you with that.”

“You're insatiable,” the little laugh. A swift meeting of the lips.

Peck.

That was rich, given the circumstances. Lust was in her eyes, in her wandering hands, not giving an inch to move way.

“Pot and kettle,” Korra says, kissing the woman a little deeper, enjoying the hand on her neck and sweet perfume. Taste of her cherry chapstick, sweet and waxy. Of the smile that wouldn't go away. “I like this,” she whispers after, held so close and tight. “This is nice.”

Legs hums in accent, nails digging in a tad. “Yeah, same here,” the driver hums, letting her mouth wander, now. All along her neck a trail of lingering kisses. Hot and warm and all too pleasant. Stirring desire, clouding thought, making words harder and harder to form. “I wouldn't mind this being a habit, for either of us, honestly.”

“The sex thing or the cuddling thing?” Korra inquires, taking her turn to kiss and nip. “Because, we've already done both.”

“Shut it, you know what I mean.”

Another hum, another lingering meeting of the lips, neither bothering to dip further into the other. She knew what the other woman meant, though it was harder to put into words than she'd like. “Us?”

“Is there an 'Us'?”

“I guess so,” TC Waters shrugs, shivering as hands started to trace down her side. All the way, almost. Even dipping to tease the inside of her thigh before retreating back up and swirling circles on the rise of her hips. So hard to think, to say. Harder than it would have been, already. “I-I want there to be one.”

Kind warmth in the smile that takes her nervous one in its embrace. “Me too.”

Her body is shaking, trembling like Korra's never seen. One of fear, not pleasure. Something for her to hug away, smother in sweetness until it was glazed like Christmas ham.

_Fuck my life…_

_I'm wrapped around her finger, aren't I?_

_Such an idiot…_

Around their latest meeting of the mouths, a question raises its ugly head. “How are we doing this?”

“The sex thing, or the 'Us' thing?”

“Us,” Korra's reply, moaning as a finger brushes a little close to her bud. “Okay, you're gonna have to stop that while we're talking.”

Nip of her lip, little pout of her own. Adorably infuriating. “Spoil sport.”

But, the hand retreats, regardless, wandering up her belly, once more. There it draws more idle patterns. Lines of fire along muscled flesh. More distraction from the task at hand. “What are we going to do?”the officer asks amid brushes of lip on lips. “Sneak around til one of us makes a slip? Meet up at a different little dinner each time?”

“I don't know,” Asami sighs, upset at the unpleasant interruption to their lovemaking. “But, I doubt we could just work together after all this.”

With a nod and a sigh of her own, the tanker agreed. “You're probably right about that.”

“I know I am.”

“Just like you are about everything?”

An eyebrow quirks, the smile as well. Getting a little taunting around the edges as the hand not tracing abs slid over the rise of Korra's butt, giving it a little squeeze. “Look, I know what you're thinking, and I'm worried, too,” the woman confides, tightening her grip in either a nervous spasm of an attempt to maintain arousal. “I like you. You're a fun time, Waters, and I don't say that often. I'd really rather not give this up for the damn rules, if we can help it. But, if you ever think we should, I'm okay with that.”

_Just keeps on surprising me, doesn't she? That's worth a kiss, or two, I think._

And she does kiss her. Deep and hard. Putting all the longing, and fear, and lust, and the budding flower of that forbidden other thing in her entire body into the gesture. Earning equal in return, tongue scouring her as her does the same.

Perfect, like all the others.

“Same thing, here,” she mutters back, coming up for air. “You ever get cold feet, I get that. Want to break things off when we ship out, that's fine.”

“And here I thought you'd be one of those romantics,” Asami teases, swooning as she turns her head so her ear can be nibbled to the darker woman's content. Chests heaved as they both started to get stirrings of desire they couldn't easily tamp down, breasts pressing a little harder into the opposite pair. “Sweep a girl off her feet in your tatty green rags. Elope off into the desert, sand swirling around you as she's cradled in your arms.”

Laughing heartily at the image, Korra whispered into the ear, “That's, definitely, more your thing, babe.”

“Shame...”

“Yeah...”

Ticks of the clock on the wall, and a few more kisses pass, before either of them move.

“Hey, where are you going?” Asami asks, hands clinging to the Lieutenant as she starts to rise. Fingers grip at her hips, wrists, loosely, delaying the inevitable parting of their bodies. “Get back here, I’m not done with you.”

Korra smiles as she rolls off the bed. She isn’t done, either. Not by a long shot. But for every job, you need the right tools. And the right tool for knocking someone down a few pegs was just a few steps away, tucked in her bag, discarded at the door. Caught in the damn thing with its fucking ZIPPER!

_Get open, you shit! You're ruining the moment!_

One leg after the other, she dons her kit without a word. Tries to make a little show of it, but that's never been her thing. More up Asami's alley, if she was honest.

However, when she looks back at their carnal platform, she finds Asami chewing a finger, other hand dipped to her flower. It works a slow, teasing circle on her nub as eyes dart between the faux phallus and the wearer's pink-cheeked face.

“Damn, that thing looks good on you,” the driver shudders, need more than plain on her face. Beckoning finger draws her in like a reel. A pull for every step. Taunting, teasing, unreasonably sexy lifting of her leg and spreading of herself. Drawing the eye, irresistibly, to her sex, making mouth water and heart pound like a bass drum in Korra's ears. “I hope you can make make good on those threats, Blue. Don't disappoint me.”

“I won't,” she swears, crawling back upon the bed, drawing her tongue through sodden folds for another taste, and up to her belly. It would be a long trip up to get everything. Have to be thorough, after all. “You know, damn well, I won't.”

 _Fuck my life_ , she thought as her path was made, world retreating to that of pleasure, _I have a meeting, tomorrow…_

_Eh, this is more important._

A shuddering moan as mouth seals around a nip, bobbing cock so close to entry. Eyes of emerald pleading with her, silently, voice stolen by soft cries of expectant ecstasy. High and needy. Panting pleading and muttered cursing. “Please, please. Fuck! Korra...”

Single whine as she drags the head over the waiting slit, coating it in wetness.

 _This is_ **_way_ ** _more important._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love comments, but I can fully understand not wanting to do so on this particular chapter. We shall be returning to the Army aspects of this fic, next chapter, as preparations to ship off begin, in earnest. Expect a very bored and longing Korra.


	10. Timetables, Chairs, and Phones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored Korra is very bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, Lieutenant Waters comes down with a bad case of AWS (Asami Withdrawal Syndrome).

A glaze had fallen over the world. Brought on by late night and fond memories. Shadow of kisses on her cheek and chest, fingers playing on her skin. Sore legs and gut from exertion and being exerted on. Arms bearing just enough strength to keep her pen gliding across a yellow pad, jotting notes in shorthand only she and her platoon could read.

At the fore of the room, her Battalion XO, making broad strokes on the whiteboard. Plodding, monotone speech almost hypnotic in how boring it truly felt to listen through. Reports best sent via email or courier.

Running through preparations already performed. Reiterating the obvious. Nitty-gritty detail of obvious precautions to be made.

All under the Colonel's watchful eye. Steely gaze washing over all of them. Brushing the thought of any other from her mind as they linger on her face, obvious distaste being shared between the women. They bore into each other every time the meet, battling for supremacy and secrets. Blue and grey, more than a decade of service separating them, but bearing the same stubborn resolve.

Oblivious, the Major monotones on.

Finally, he moves to the shakedown drills. Setting out the parameters for runs to the proving ground, live-fire exercises, and combined-arms drills. Bravo was third in line, obviously, after HQ and Alpha. They'd steal as their partners a company from the 2-68, just for the sake of ease, and to get folks used to working as a Brigade, again.

Yes, the Hell-Raisers were going to raise hell, once more. Let their wheels and treads burn ruts in the black soil and rain-fed grass. Show the other rest of the base how to get things done.

If they could survive that long.

Boredom was the great enemy of the junior officer, all gathered in this room. Heaped upon them was the burden of all that their superiors had passed down the line until it stopped at the bottom. Adding to this were the passions of youth. Energy, enthusiasm, aggression.

No one joined the Armored Branch to write notes and sign forms.

Alright, some did, but those people were weird from the get-go. They were the ones who sat in the corners of jovial gatherings, to shy or awkward to join in, without pushing to do so.

Folks who want to breeze through the service. Run out a commission as something for the resume. Don't act out or ask questions, all the while desperately trying not to excel. Just aiming for spectacularly average. Spurning advancement as the plague.

Korra Waters, 1st Lieutenant, former Staff Sergeant, was not one of these people. She loved the roar of engines, stench of cordite. Flash and bang of a shell being sent downrange as wind and sand whipped against her face and helmet, sweat dripping from her chin. The crackle of her earpiece, shouting orders to her team. A woman of action, always, on the job and off. In love with the life, and all its trials. Wouldn't give it up for the world.

Desks hate her, and she hates them.

Last night had reminded her of that fact, if she had ever let it lapse. Making love to the most beautiful woman ever to cross the Lieutenant's path. Kissing and cuddling after, spending the night in the same bed with a lover for the first time in easy memory (after a mutual shower and stripping of sheets, of course).

A date, a real date, the night before. Laughter and hand-holding. Stories and sports talk over a fine meal with finer company, even with the incessant teasing at her expense.

Promise of others on her mind every break from her duel with the power that be, while she resorts to doodling in the margins. Tiny stick figures animating whatever came to mind, often images of the idle plans made in their post-sexual haze.

Hand-in-hand on a walk in the woods. Leaning against each other in the theater, movie playing for the oblivious. Huddling over a table, big smiles full of laughter. To complete her descent into the crush-drunk schoolgirl she had never been, little hearts were scrawled around it all, even as it made her skin crawl to do so.

_Fuck, I'm hopeless_ , she told herself, smiling at her own stupidity.

To write what was effectively evidence in the presence of dozens of eyes, any of whom might be looking over her shoulder, some hidden axe to grind.

What the Lieutenant would give to be with her in that hotel bed, arms around her waist, smiling at nothing but Asami's own grin? But, life wasn't working that way, as the topic shifted, finally, to the prospect of leave and promotions leading up to the big day.

Week.

Whatever.

Her mind was allowed to wander, now, as the procedures would stay the same as always.

Nope, and nada, respectively.

A yearning for light that wasn't harsh on the eyes struck the woman as her sight fully unfocused. Company that didn't have the unseeing eyes of a dead fish. An ass that didn't hurt to sit on, making her shift on the hard plastic chair for a little modicum of comfort. Muscles that weren't weary from the night's ecstasy. Not having needed to hit the latrine for the last half-hour.

Simply a cup of coffee to sip. That would be enough.

The only distraction she was afforded was the occasional buzz of her phone, jingling in her pocket. Humming vibrations of texts and calls, about thrice as many as usual.

It was hard to tell from whom they originated, without looking, but the usual suspects leap to mind. Kuvira's bi-hourly updates, full of who did what, when, and why. Grumbling, world-weary words clear in letters as sound. Frustrated those that were younger were just as poor at their jobs as they had been. Proclaiming the need to knuckle down on those bad eggs that caused trouble, keeping her from that bouncing baby boy a second longer than desired.

Others could be anything, frankly. Family, the few who had her number. A crew member or maintenance Specialist giving her a final green-light for Raava. Random bitching up the chain. Maybe even down. Perhaps, a beep from a friend outside the service. Invite to a party, or something of the like.

That would be fun. Drinks, dancing, and dirty looks across a crowded floor.

_Asami…_

In her black skinny jeans, red Solo cup in hand. Hair wild and reckless. Smiling, so seductive. Hips swaying with every step once she catches eyes on her.

But, they didn't need to meet like that, anymore. Fate would have no hand in their next night, nor the meals and mornings that would flank them. Dates, dating, a girlfriend, all things she felt unprepared for, and suddenly with a plenty in supply.

Gah, they should have had a proper morning, Korra knew. Full breakfast and late start. No alarms jolting them awake. Just rising with the sun, or later. Gently up. Roused by kisses and flirting instead of the death howl of a timer, blaring like an air-raid siren into the most peaceful night of sleep the Lieutenant could ever remember having outside of combat. Exhausted, body, mind, and soul alike.

_I could get used to that. The Hallmark movie morning. Molasses sweet._

And, thus, she was lost to fantasy, pen functioning on autopilot. Her eyes dull as the others had, long ago, as she starts to replay things, in excruciating detail. Reluctant admission from lips agape. That she was better with the toy. Making sure to compare, just in case.

Oh, such vivid memory to carry her through these dark times of mind-numbing boredom. Of giving up, falling to the mattress, spent. Only to find enough energy to drag themselves to the shower, giggling like idiots in their delirium. Happy and together. Already talking of the next outing they would share. Secret meetings in silent places.

Dates and dances under neon vacancy signs. Dinners full of idle arguments that made hours seem mere moments.

Buzz, buzz.

Buzz, buzz.

Phone makes its presence known.

Not thirty seconds later, and it did so, again. Two, no three, messages in quick succession. A forth follows, perhaps a minute after.

It's enough to have her pull the rectangle from her pockets depths. Better to know that the depot was burning to the ground and get yelled at now, than to not find out 'til later and get yelled at then. A simple order to her preferences of getting chewed out.

More than twenty pop-ups flood the screen, balanced on her thigh so it remained under the table. Latest of them were not from an expected source. A number she had tagged with a nickname, just in case. Burner phone of the beautiful, black-haired dancer. Spare she kept for personal calls and a certain Blue.

_“Miss you_

_So bored right now_

_There is nothing to do, I'm telling you”_

A pause in the timing, followed by a motion-blurred picture. The hustle and bustle of her little ants from the perch of her hatch. Or, rather, the loitering mass of taskless idiots, NCO's barking in futility.

_“Sarge says we're waiting on a new transmission, but it hasn't shown_

_Whole fleet is up and running, cept hers”_

Likely by design. Bastet never liked being next to last. Always caused trouble if she wasn't the center of everyone's attention. Throwing clouds of smoke from nowhere, shredding bogies like sugar paper, splooging every liquid known to man from the just checked seals of a fresh engine and dying in most dramatic fashion.

But, would Kuvira give her up?

Never.

Drug out of the scrap heap, no matter the damage. Her lucky charm, if such a thing existed. Credited the beast with everything from her happy marriage to a healthy child.

_“Miss you too”_ , she sends back, unable to hold the smile inside. “ _Be about an hour til we're done. See you then.”_

And send.

Eyes up to the board, jotting the few things she's missed.

Buzz, buzz.

_“Hurry”_

With a sigh, Korra flicks over to her number-two's profile and scans the updates. Just as Asami said, all that was in the works was a new transmission. The troops were wandering about, not a care in the world, taking to re-affixing those personal touches stripped by the Battalion and Regimental crews. Making them battle ready, instead of parade sheen.

_“If they've got time for that, they've got time to get in shape”,_ the Lieutenant decides, having seen the sorry shape some of the men had fallen into with McDonald's so easily available, _“5 clicks_

_Make it happen”_

An affirmation follows in a timely manner, as well as a request to merely supervise the exercise from the comfort of the driver's seat.

Shot down, just as fast.

If one was to suffer, all must do the same. To lead, you must share in the trials of those under you. Bond with shared misfortune. Suffer for the constant interrogation of your friends and superiors with physical exertion, while taking all the blame for its occurrence.

The retribution for this would be swift, no doubt. Brutal, beyond compare. A savage attack of some unknown nature and timing, but sure in its arrival upon Korra's doorstep. Dressed up with a side-on hug and a smile from ear-to-ear. Regardless, it felt good to get even. Repay the slight to her hidden date and herself. The awkwardness of being kept at arm's length of each other as they conspired and connived.

That is, until a final string of texts that almost made her laugh.

_“When I said I was bored_

_This wasn't what I was expecting you to do_

_Fuck you_

_Making me run after all that”_

Tick, tock of building tension, Colonel's eyes burning holes into the top of her skull, each heartbeat a step closer to discovery. Exposure to all the wrath coming her way.

“Waters, are we boring you?! Or, is your lap just that much more important?!” the woman barks, as if summoned by whatever demon pulled her strings to torment Korra so. Such stern contempt radiates from her, making every head turn on a swivel to the object of her distaste. “Speak up, or get out! NOW!”

Rising, instantly, to her feet, the Lieutenant issued her curt response. “Apologies, Ma'am. Just issuing orders.”

Silence fell, eyes war. Heartbeat drums inside every skull.

Then, a single buzz in her pocket. Death-nail of her day, in the form of a single text. It echoes over silence, as an earthquake does the stillness of dawn, or a hurricane on the sea. Gong of church bells at the funeral of a junior officer.

Even on her side, she could tell it was no message.

A single word, or worse.

_Fuck my life…_

_I shouldn't have been wearing out your legs. I should have been wearing out your goddamn hands!_

Well, at the very least, she wasn't bored any more.

And she was **sooo** going to make Asami pay for this chain of events. In every way she could think of. Yes, it was time to start taking notes. In excruciating detail.

Just as soon as the screaming stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation, this week, but it shouldn't affect the next chapter, at all. It's going to be my first attempt at writing the team in action, though not under fire, so I hope that goes well.
> 
> Many thanks, as always. And I hope that you enjoyed.  
> (A comment to make my long roadtrip more bearable would be swell, also.)


	11. Rock and Roll, People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanks, mistakes, and secret lesbian planning. Just normal Army stuff, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this is both late, and potentially not up to the quality you have come to expect. Not gonna give you a big sob story, just know my computer and I aren't on speaking terms, anymore.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, regardless of the circumstances. And my excuses.

Hot diesel fumes sting every part of her, spewed from the exhaust of the vehicle in front of her. Exposed skin touched by the crackling sun. Lungs and nose tingle and flare through her olive bandana, breathing the stench deep and savoring it like a fine wine or flowers from a lover.

 

Only, her lover sat in the driver's seat, hatch up under the long barrel of the main cannon. While the taste up top was mildly distasteful, down below it must be choking. Her time in that chair had been mercifully brief. Cut short by a lucky mishap in paperwork. A trip to the playground because box-b was checked instead of box-a.

Just under a year as a loader, six months at gunnery. Then, the big day. Opportunity of a lifetime.

“Keep it slow,” she cautions over the comm, watching as they just edge up on the next vic in line. Feedback crackles as a three word request for clarification mingles with company-wide chatter. “About one-quarter speed.”

A dear voice replies, “Roger that.”

The roar towards the ass-end lessens, turbine winding down to next to idle. Replacing it the sound of each track pad meeting the ground.

Cla-thunk, cla-thunk, cla-thunk. Metal treads and thick rubber grousers eat into packed earth, already disturbed by dozens of matching sets of the same, this day and many others. Clods of such are sent skyward from the formation lead Bradley, peeling off and accelerating away to the drop point. Loads of disgruntled ground-pounders, full kit and more, bounce inside like sardines in a can.

Another thing she doesn't miss. Being a passenger had never sat well with Korra. Especially not while in a rolling bullet sponge.

“We'll be at the point in thirty seconds,” her gunner says in her ear, voice distorted by the Dum-Dum in his mouth. Replacement for a bad smoking habit from before they'd ever met. “Might want to button up, Boss.”

_ Not a bad idea. _

Ducking down, she shot off a series of rapid-fire orders. “Driver, turn in and take us onto bearing zero-three-zero, at thirty KPH. Put our fine selves between those knuckleheads and the target area before the fireworks kick off.” Each time she blinks, the LT sees teeth biting a plump lower lip, forcing the obligatory reply about 'fine selves' to wait for a more private exchange.

“Yes, Ma'am,” was all she got, eye roll audible in her earpiece.

The tension in her would build like that behind the cork of a champagne bottle. Eventually, it was going to explode in endless teasing jabs and clever quips.

_ And I'll be there for it all… _

Next, that second's distraction dealt with, was to expand her orders across the rest of the platoon. “Castle-two, this is Actual: mirror my turn and bring yourself up to that little rise with the fencepost, copy?”

“Copy that. Castle-four, on my ass.”

“Roger, not a problem.”

And off went the mother and the Irishman into their own little world. Separate from the rest of the military, for sake of sanity and order.

Good riddance to them both. Dragging out this entire day with pointless chatter on the comms. Petty arguments over the most pointless things. The buttons of a shirt, flap of a collar. Words for the sake of themselves. Conflict in the name of an idiotic pissing contest, gone on for years, and never once dissipating in intensity.

Finally, enough was enough. “Can it, both of you!” Korra snaps, vein in her forehead pulsing. A migraine was starting to build between her ears. Thump, thump of angry drums, threatening an aneurism. “Clear the damn set, or get out and walk!”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Aye, Ma'am.”

And the feud was put to bed.

For the time being, at least. Until they got face-to-face, said something to irk the other to mischief. Make life miserable for their CO, all over again.

More importantly, they had reached the perfect place to hole up for orders. Hull down, with an excellent view of the sweeping valley, below. Nestled at the bottom, a mockup of a village, complete with vehicles and cutouts of family life and livestock. Static, but that aspect wasn't as important as recognizing foe from non-combatant.

Even with the naked eye, it was almost possible with some. Off in odd places. Silhouettes familiar to the trained mind. Up on a rooftop. Peering from behind bales of hay and gaps in wall. Well separated from any groups that could cause an ethical dilemma for the training.

Or any eagle-eyed reporters.

Bringing the mouthpiece close and switching channels, the TC orders a swift, “Hold here.”

There's a great groaning as the engine whines down and the brakes are applied. Everything shifts forwards, carried by momentum and the tilting of suspension springs. Only the main cannon stays level, stabilizers doing good work to keep sights on target to some obscure part of the horizon.

“All stop,” Asami reports, humming rumbling coming to a halt as the engine winds down, entirely. Replacing it, the light rattling of a weedy backup in the turret basket. “Holding for orders.”

Nodding to herself, Korra dips back inside, taking a swift glance at her screen. Full of little triangles, a line of their own course. Pretty little formation of the unit, arrayed at the starting line like good little boys and girls. Toys for the amusement of Brigade brass, all lining up to see the kids at play. That, or for the firework display. Big guns made such pretty colors, after all.

Thundering booms and gouts of flame made for nice stock footage for the recruitment ads.

Back up to observe the infantry dismounting. Hustling out of the Ford's tight confines, down the ramps before they even touch the ground.

Every one of them fans out and seeks cover to shelter themselves from a fictional enemy. Sergeants bark as though the real thing was on the next hill over. Those lethal cardboard warriors of the Balsa-Wood Brigade.

Truly, the most formidable foe some of their charges have ever faced.

Meanwhile, young corporals muster up fireteams. Efficiently spaced units in prime position to lay down a hail of rifle fire at a moment's notice. Only slightly neutered in intimidation factor by the orange safety caps on the end of all the firearms. Not, exactly, spine chilling viewing.

Now, the way they start to swiftly move her way, swishing between scrub brush, in that odd staggered step. That made her shiver. If only with nostalgia.

Back to the task at hand, she checks that their little touch of decoration is in place. Affixed by duct tape, of a checkered green and white, bill pointing to the sky. Yes, tradition would be maintained, this day.

The cap of Sgt. Sato, volunteered as sacrifice.

It's with a smile she reports that her platoon has reached the starting area. She simply can't help it. The act of turning anything Army into atoms gives her, and all she knew, a sick sort of joy.

Much as she loves the service, the odd rituals of bonding are what she enjoys the most. Pranks upon senior officers, unique marching tunes full of profanities to make sailors blush, drinking binges that make you regret every choice you've ever made. And, the simple act of destruction of government property.

“Sure hope it doesn't get cold, any time soon,” Bolin hums, popping his own head out. A grin splits his face, ear to ear. Hell, he's practically vibrating.

Chuckling with her own glee, Asami agrees, heartily.

That smile of hers, so clear in the mind's eye. Almost making up for the torture of Beifong's wrath, if not quite. Excitement in her every syllable, joy inside her heart. This was her first real experience with the entire Company. Being part of the family.

And, just as the first gaggle reach the ass-end of Raava, the signal is given to make it official.

“All units, the light is green!” the Captain sounds, more formal than he ever let himself be. Engines roar back to life, breathing fire into the heart of the beast. Turret whips under her, acquiring a first target under deadly gaze. “We are a go for Ops! Repeat, we are a go!”

“Gunner, target bearing zero-two-five, low! Technical in the open” Lieutenant Waters barks above the chatter of other tanks and APC's calling out their own targets. First come, first serve. Dibs on doing damage. Hitting the bad-guys where it hurt. “Range is eight-hundred meters, clear tube and load HE.”

“Roger, zero-two-five!”

Bolin chimes in, already ahead of the game. “HE ready!”

Sure enough, just audible, the sound of heavy blast doors pushed shut by hydraulics. Strictly speaking, he was breaking several rules on weapon's safety. Having a life round outside the chamber, lain across his lap not the least of them.

Not to mention where he was keeping the damn thing out of the way of a recoiling chamber.

With a sound like a lightning strike, a plum of fire appears. Hat, brim, tape all disappear in less than a millisecond. Scorched to cinder by the muzzle blast. Nothing but a memory remains. What little scraps there might have been are cast to the wind as the inert training round hurtles towards the target.

Less than two seconds later and the phosphorus tracer impacts. Metal of the old junker is shredded like tissue or tinfoil. Even just a hunk of steel, the force makes the front half of the vehicle vanish into a cloud of dust and smoke.

“Good hit, good hit,” the TC smiles, heading below to inspect further targets via her cam. “Acquiring new target.”

“Reloading!”

The breech is opened, sending the old casing flying into the waiting bag. Next is slammed home by Bolin's trained hands in no time, well under the four second golden line. This mythical thing beyond the realms of mortal men and women. Into the hungry, smoking maw of the beast. Fuel for her dragon's fiery breath.

“We're up!”

Smirking despite herself, Korra chides the man for his expediency, “How many times am I going to catch you lap loading before you knock it off, Corporal?”

Laughter rings in the turret. A nervous chuckle of the knowing.

There was a reason you weren't allowed to have loose round in the turret. One any sane tanker was aware of. While the safe stowage had safety precautions (fire-extinguishers, blow-out panels, etc.) the crew compartment did not share in these luxuries. A hit to the ammo rack would cripple them, yes, but would likely leave the crew alive enough to flee the spreading fire such an event would spark.

In the basket?

A towering inferno. The kind Hollywood loved to glorify in old pictures, safely leaving out the horrors left behind. Smoldering hell. Stuff of nightmares.

“Promise I won't do it on deployment, Ma'am,” he swears, less genuine smile on his lips than usual.

_ You do that, buddy… _

_ You do that... _

Orders absent, Korra observes her platoon's shots land. Three solid hits and one near miss that would have wrecked the target, regardless. Not bad for shaking the rust off. Even if it was her talking up the team's skill.

Switching through settings on her display, Korra eavesdrops on her gunner's words of welcoming camaraderie, “You're one of us, now, Sato. How's it feel?”

“A bit like I have to find a new hat,” the woman sasses back, big grin audible despite the ringing in her CO's ears. Engine humming at her fingertips, Asami's voice is as alive as under a lover's weight. Delight at everything. Pure joy in a beautiful heart. “Hey, it's kinda dull down here, at the moment. Mind putting the music on?”

_ Of course. _

_ Only  _ **_you_ ** _ could look at a Toyoda getting cut in half and be bored by it. Fuck me, you're so annoying, it's adorable. _

Relaying and coordinating the next volley, Lieutenant Waters fumbles for the play button on the iPod. Affixed in a very much non-regulation holster, the music player was jerry-rigged into the intercom with a cannibalized set of headphones.

Just as the next round was sent flying, success. Right where they left off, midway through some early-aught's pop number of the loader's choosing. Ear-worm garbage that you couldn't help but tap your foot to. Discount Swift or Perry, but with even more overproduction and poppy blandness, if such a thing were possible.

“Skip!”

“Skip,” the grumbling of the distracted gunner, eyes pressed tight into his sight.

The usual protests are launched, falling on deaf ears while Company chatter cuts through everything else in her headset. Apparently, despite the go-ahead, half the armor was out of position. Bad turns, and all that.

Now, however, they declare their arrival with a second volley, just seconds before her own. Everything not bolted down jumps, including Korra herself. Second series of streaks fill the screen, landing prettily on target. Puffs of smoke and sod from a new hole in the rough dugouts towards their end of the mockup village. Just a series of crude ditches to illustrate an important area, rather than any manner of effective defenses.

Standard fare.

Suppressive fire in infantry support. The most important job she'd ever had in the military. Likely, ever will.

All the shooting wars of today were asymmetrical. Big guys hitting up on the little guys with a baseball bat, getting a bloody nose every once in a while as payment from a lucky jab. Terrorists, insurgents, militias, 'freedom fighters', or whatever else they slapped on a banner.

Tanks just didn't fight tanks, anymore, because the nations that had them didn't. Glorious as the idea of a massive duel of hulking slabs, chugging diesel, clad in steel and ceramic plating sounded, it would never happen in her lifetime. Warfare has moved on, into the age of the digital soldier. She had been forced to day of such peoples, spouting off in near manic tones how they were preventing the entire Corp being brought down by one guy with a laptop and decent WiFi.

Last time her unit had faced heavy armor was in the Ardennes, late 1944. Nearly fifteen years ago for anyone else in US service, period.

Not that she was complaining.

It was a far more simple thing to sit up on this nice hill, enjoying a decent playlist, to dusting up in a real scrape. There was a sick satisfaction watching the little off-green figures double time it across an open field alongside their escorts.

Up, down, up, down. Like a bunch of rabbits in a warren. With rifles. And helmets.

Okay, nothing like rabbits.

“Break, break! All units hold fire until authorized!” a voice screams in her ear as one late shot veers wide of the rest, originating somewhere off to the west. It skims the entire length of the field, just missing a handful of roofs, before landing well long of anything resembling a target profile. “Cease fire! CEASE FIRE!”

_ Three, two, one… _

A harsh woman cuts through the panicked feed, turning the world to static. Her orders sent familiar shivers up the Lieutenant's spine. Demands of names, numbers, and heads on desks, along with various other draconian requests, all to the tune of cutting white-noise as others try to jump into the channel and explain themselves.

“Ten bucks says that was Shorty,” Mako sighs, resting back in his seat and taking all hands off the gun controls.

It was going to take time to sort things out. A lot of time. Much of the morning, if the voices in her right ear were to be trusted. The left was cutting out, again, though this might just be a minor blessing in disguise. Only one ringing sensation to deal with at the end of the day.

Lovely.

Big smirk on his face, Bolin pulled a bill from his pocket and accepts. “Nope, definitely Crenshaw,” the youngest assures them all, sure as he has been at anything. “Ole Butterfingers.”

His confidence is to be admired, if not his choice of perpetrator for the near disastrous gaff. It was more of a hopeful reach than an actual bet. That one of his most disliked would get shellacked by the Colonel is a tempting pit-trap for him to fall into. Not vengeful, so much as a desire to settle debts.

Some ticks go by, chatter unceasing in Korra's headset, despite the channel she switches to. Kuvira driving herself mad keeping the Irishman quiet, Cpt. Baker doing much the same with the junior El-Tees. And she sits, woman of action, nothing to do but wait for orders.

“What now?”

An interesting question from the party girl with haunting eyes.

What to do when you're entire training exercise has just been thrown into chaos in an instant?

“Standby to standby,” she shoots back, flipping to platoon-wide as the engine falls to a low idle, once more. “Castle-Two to Four, this is Actual: shut it down until we get this shit-show sorted out. No point wasting the Army's gas when we don't have to, over.”

“Copy tha.”

“Roger, powering down.”

“No problem, Boss. We got a timetable here, or should I break out the coffee and smokes, over?” Kuvira inquires, obviously just as crazed by the delay as herself.

Looking questioningly to her little eavesdrop, the only reply she got was a shrug. Bolin liked patching into the frequencies, from time-to-time, in order to keep the E-4 Mafia appeased of the goings on of the higher orders. A tolerable, if 'strictly' against regulations, concession to make. So long as any juicy intel on smuggling and gambling land on her desk, first.

All anonymously, of course.

Still, even with the benefit of the grapevine, he seems as lost in the proceedings as anyone else with half a brain. More than those with the entire thing. Even with the volume nob quivering at the first dot on the dial, Beifong's barks are like snarling, bloodthirsty Dobermans.

Letting the inevitability of the situation sink in, Korra let the bad news filter out. “Might as well get comfortable. Looks like we're gonna be here a while.”

And, indeed it does. Spinning her camera around, Lieutenant Waters takes in the sight of already milling infantry. Faces glazed with sweat from hefting heavy packs, and sitting in what the Army generously calls 'air-conditioning', fill the small display. The tightly controlled, well organized spread is gone. Now, they huddle in their little cliques, shooting the shit while time, valuable time, ticks by on the countdown to departure.

Some are making an effort. Doing solo drills and exercise to keep the blood flowing, but they are the vast minority. Most seem willing to take the unexpected break as just that. Devoid of responsibilities until the NCO's come to their senses and start earnest reorganizations.

“Anyone got any plans for later?” the Cpl. asks, seemingly desperate to fill the air with something other than attempts to restore order.

Not her.

Not really.

Despite promises to the contrary, this was looking to be a week free of night-time eloping. Paperwork piles her desk. Each form needing a scribbled signature before the next could catch her attention.

Fortunately, the elder 'sibling' had. “Izuna booked us a table at that new place Steel was talking about, tonight. Supposed to be nice,” he relays, falling back from his sight to stare at the turret roof with a blank stare. It was obvious his real opinions on the night.  **_Nice_ ** . Code for fancy, or more like expensive. The kind of place you went to patch things up after a mistake.

Or apologize for being gone.

“Don't know if I have anything to wear. I'll have to dig through to closet, when I get home.”

“Nothing wrong with Dress Blue, is there?” his old friend points out, spinning in her seat to look at both men more easily without having to crane her neck. “Get some flowers, you'll do fine, buddy.”

An amused snort appears in the officer's ear from a woman unseen. “Ditch the flowers, it'll make you look desperate,” Legs says in an almost experienced way. Something to keep in the back of the mind for later. “And, it's definitely not that fancy. White dress-shirt, long sleeves. Slacks, if you have them.”

“Thanks.”

_ Another thing to look for, _ his eye-roll seems to scream.

Looking over his shoulder, Mako passes the conversation along. “How about you? Just going to hole up, again? Or is there a party, somewhere?”

“Quiet night,” she shrugs, pulling her canteen from it's little nest and taking a swig. Off-brand Gatorade, slightly too sweet to fool you into it being healthy. Swish it around to but for time. “Think there's a game on, but I'll probably miss the first half. Bo?”

“Calling Granny. She worries if I don't check in. I'm her favorite.”

A crumpled candy wrapper is flung up towards his face from the gunner's berth, just clearing the breech. “No, you're not. Cousin Maya is.”

“You're full of it.”

“So are you, bro, so are you. But, I have the extra stripes, so that means I am automatically right.”

“Respectfully, Mako,” the youngest crewman chuckles, lifting the one-fingered salute. All in good fun. Bonding during the good times, so the bad weren't quite as, well,  **bad** . Tight knit were the four peas in every pod, and hers was no exception. Thicker than thieves or blood. Able to take whatever the others threw their way. “How about you, Sergeant? Any plans?”

She hears it, Korra does.

She hears it buried in the hum. A low, monotone, drawling note heard too many times before to be mistaken.

It was the stirrings of a plan being set into motion. Some little pushing that had, in past experience, led to nothing but thrills in the sack. Manipulation for the greater good. And only for the greatest gain.

“I was thinking about going to watching a movie.”

_ Oh, fuck me! You are not doing this, right now. In front of witnesses? Really, woman? Why must you torture me so? _

“That sounds fun,” the loader chirps, suddenly enthralled by this opportunity at chitchat. A deep dive into what he must see as total innocence. Building a rapport with his new comrade, utterly oblivious to the second meaning. The proposition under all the nonchalance. “What are you going to see?”

_ Nooo. _

_ Don't encourage her. _

Another hum. This one just a little shorter than the first. More a que than a thought. “I'm not sure...”

_ Stop! _

_ Don't do this, Korra. Show restraint. She's just playing games with you. That's all that's happening. She might not even be doing that. Just wants to see a movie. By herself. On a weeknight. _

_ RESIST! _

_ You are a strong, independent lesbian woman… _

_ … _

_ Who is  _ **_totally_ ** _ stupid for her. Let's do this thing! _

“Heard that new Star Wars thing was pretty good,” the love-hungry idiot caves, instantly. Resolve she prided herself on shatters in a heartbeat, as hers decides to skip a few. Turning back to her screen is the only attempt made to save face. And only to hide whatever blushes or other failings might break the surface.

“Or, the worst thing in the world, depending on who you ask,” Mako says, flatly.

Well, so much for keeping the conversation short. Daggers bore through the screen and into the back of his helmet. Were she Supergirl, his head would be cinders, right now.

Same as the other man, with his endless chain of recommendations and questions, so rapid fire Asami hardly has the time to respond. Big blockbuster Marvel films were out due to missing the latest batch, the annual rom-com for being too predictable. Indie is abandoned because there isn't a screen showing them within fifty miles, as well as Deadpool for being gory and crude.

Then, epiphany.

Like a bolt from the blue, it comes to her. Utter madness, but an option nonetheless. “Why not just rent something? Or Netflix?”

“That's a good idea,” the driver hops on, instantly, interrupting an argument for the Avengers great bout. It's almost as if the idea was more enticing to the woman than her own, for some reason. “I guess I could pop over to a friend's house. Borrow their cable for the evening.”

“Guess you could.”

“Of course, then I'd owe them a favor. I  **_really_ ** hate that.”

“Well,” Korra hums, turning up the volume on her set just a tad, “You could just pay them back with a six-pack. People tend to forget that sort of thing if you booze them up, a little.”

“Cheers to that,” Mako salutes. In an instant, he's back to his sight, fingers hovering on the controls. His instincts are telling him what her ears are catching up to. That the time has come for more gunnery. “Might want to get the engine warmed up. They’re starting to move.”

And the radio crackles to life.

New orders, new position, same damn drill. Total reset of the morning, pushing her paperwork into the late evening, at best. Any movie nights beyond the horizon into that murky thing called ‘future’. Snuggling close on the couch, beer in one hand, a, well, hand in the other. Stolen kisses with a belly of takeout pizza, or Chinese. Maybe even a bottle of grocery store wine.

With the turbine spinning up behind her, coordinates being scribbled in her pad, Korra gives her driver on last bit of covertness, “You might want to push your plans off, Sato. It’s going to be a busy day.”

“Good idea, Ma’am,” her brand-new girlfriend replies. “It’ll give me time to brush the mud out of my teeth.”

_ That. That I have to see. _

_ And take copious pictures of. For… the memories. Certainly not for any ulterior motives. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be movie night, then a timeskip of a couple weeks. Much as I love this story, I fear getting caught in the quagmire. See you next time, with more Army lesbians being uselessly gay for each other.


	12. A Quiet Night In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and a Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was late. Had some trouble coordinating with my editor.  
> Hope you enjoy.

So the table was set, with minutes to spare, and each manner of high-fat junk-food was there. A pizza from Vino's, just down the road. Paired as entree with Chinese that tempted her nose. Mild beef, spicy chicken, and two types of rice, that part of the meal looks particularly nice. Chips, dips, and popcorn all piled high. All to be partaken on this fair early night.

And it was fair.

Mild.

No weather to speak of. Clear skies, gentle breeze, and a crystal like moon. Like an unblinking eye staring down at the world.

The eyes of one Lieutenant Waters were much more active. Checking her phone every minute or so. For the time, despite an internal clock that occasionally proves eerily accurate. For messages or missed calls, despite the ringer being set so loud it shook the table with every email.

Indecision had marked the day, as it being marked this very moment. To call, or not to call? That is the question.

Risk coming off as a desperate weirdo to get a timeline. See if her had the time for a third shower of the day. To brush her teeth until they shone. Scoot things around so they looked nice as possible, sweep the floor obsessively for the dust she never bothered with.

Trouble with living two places at once, neither felt like home.

And she was always forgetting what was here and what was there. She faces a distinct lack of cutlery, at the moment. Plastic only just making up in the gaps in her patchwork collection of piecemeal dinner sets. Serving spoons stick from the collection of sodium drenched fat that only just counts as food. Delicious as they might be, each dish would add a great many miles and reps to her workout regime.

Not that she minds. So long as it meant hands would hold tight around her shoulders, fingers tracing the lines of her bare abs.

That she could bring Asami in tight for a hug, whenever they were alone. Hold her there and be together. Listen to that little chuckle, the jabs sent her way before they briefly kiss. Feel close to someone. Care for them.

Maybe even more than-

Knock, knock, drop the thought, leaping to her feet.

Fighting the instinct to run. Keeping an even pace to avoid from looking a total idiot. Not that she wasn't. It was the illusion the officer needed, not a fact.

Deep breath at the door. Just a pause to gather herself, a moment. Try to remember how to act smooth and confident as she had that first time. Thirsty for nothing more that a good drink and a better time with the prettiest face around.

Cool metal of the handle rests against one set of fingers, that of the lock against the other. Twist a wrist until the sound of a satisfying click. Open the door to the early night, still hanging onto a last hint of the sun’s rays. Moths dance in the glow of the light by the door, humming wings carrying them in swirls around the featureless sky. Which is what it truly was.

Mild.

Weatherless.

Completely unremarkable, except…

In one hand she loosely holds a chilled package for them to share. Little droplets cling to the metal cylinders, running down like sweat off the brow. On her lips, that smile. Same as the first. Flirtatious and happy and full of bountiful mischief.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I brought the beer.”

“I can see that.”

Korra can feel the stupidly large grin spreading across her face with every word. And she doesn't care. Hopefully it's endearing, as they meet in a hug that lifts the newcomer off the ground, dragging her into the apartment. A kiss, sweet and soft against ruby lips, hand running through that long, luxurious hair when she's set back down.

For… science.

Making sure it was just as silky smooth as always. That not a follicle out of place.

Humming as they take a step apart, lest the night end in a much more calorie intensive manner, Asami whispers a hushed, “I missed you.”

“It's been three hours,” Korra smiles, rolling her eyes at the obvious exaggeration. _And I'm supposed to be the romantic one_ , she thought to herself, unable to stop the little flutter of a foolish heart. “And I was yelling at you for riding the brakes, last I remember?”

Not losing a hint of that grin, her girlfriend banters back, “That was _Lieutenant_ Korra. You and her? Entirely different people.”

“Yeah, sure thing, babe.”

“I mean it, she is,” the driver insists, following her nose wherever it went. Right to the amassed smorgasbord of artery clogging goodness. Eyes catch hers and tick up a brow, accusingly. Both knew that letting her choose had ended just as well as could be expected. “She, for example, would chew me out for even looking at all this junk. What happened? I thought you were going to pick a thing and stick with it?”

_Yeah, funny thing, that…_

A palm rubs a neck that had been cradled in her palms almost as soon as the food was lain on the table before her. “Well, you sounded like you didn’t care what we ate-”

“I didn’t.”

“And I couldn’t make up my mind,” the host babbles, melting under the pursed smile of amusement on the lips edging ever closer to her own. “I skipped lunch because I had extra paperwork, so I was hungry when I set all this up.”

With a kiss, she is silenced.

Such a lovely, if painfully fleeting thing. Feeling that smile on her. Tasting chapstick for the second time this night.

Hearing her little jab as they separate. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re all flustered,” Asami teases, pushing off with a hand not still wielding valuable refreshment, “Have I told you that, already?”

“I think so,” the stuttering fool hums, catching the beer underhanded her way.

With one of her own, Legs deposits the balance on the only corner free of clutter. A hissing froth is summoned as she pops the can with a single hand, the other pointing to the spot next to her on the couch. The weight of her flopping onto the cushions disturbs the carefully (hastily) folded throw on the back. It falls as the first taste of moderately priced alcohol passes suddenly thirsty lips.

Plates and cutlery clink as the guest becomes the host, divvying up portions of each entree to both women with silent concentration upon her gorgeous features. So cute as he brow wrinkles trying to keep all the items arranged in individual heaps of cheese, sauce, and starch.

“Napkins?”

“You’re sitting on them.”

An eyebrow lifts up, as does her backside. Room for an arm to slip between back and sofa, best thing after a hug.

Back down with a snort and a jab at the ready. Literally, in the form of a soft punch to the ribs. Figuratively, with a word that condenses both displeasure and comfort with the motion into a syllable: “Cock.”

She can’t help it. The words leave her lips before she can think.

“Nope. That’s in the drawer, and it ain’t coming out tonight.” It almost hurts not to laugh at the stunned look that makes green eyes go unfocused, just a moment. Back to normal before she gets a chance. Only, with a stern edge Korra knows well from more passionate moments in their relationship. “Hey, don’t you look at me like that. You were wide open for that.”

Shoving a loaded plate into shielding hands, Asami contemplates. “So, when you said Netflix and chill, you actually meant it.”

“Of course.”

_I can spend time with you and not want sex, you little nymph._

Mind-reader.

Blush-reader, at the very least.

Able to catch the tiniest flush of pink into light-brown cheeks. The flick of an eye to something other than her own.

“Interesting…”

“Don’t start with me, woman,” Lieutenant Waters warns, lifting a heaping spoon to her mouth and savoring every microgram of sugar and sodium. She swallows, just as her lover chomps into her veggie slice, smirking at how the woman squeaks as toppings tumble. “My house, my rules. Food and movies, nothing else.”

Laughing to herself, Sgt Sato relays the sentiment “ _Sure..._ ” far more clearly than any number of words ever could. Full of all the little eccentricities that were lost in speech, but all too plain when sent via the lengthy stare.

Food is followed by beer, followed by food, repeat. “What are we watching, then?” Asami asks, looking at the lifeless TV with interest.

“A classic.”

Spark of light, spreading in an instant.

Men in armor, animated in a singular style, with cheerful music playing in the background. Faces of the funny men. Period garb on every head (or helm, as the case may be), fake facial hair on a few.

“Monty Python, **_really_ **?” Asami asks, planting another sideways look and teasing smirk into the memories of her girlfriend. That, and an adorable obliviousness to the little line of cheese running down her chin. But the woman didn’t care. Too intent on the all consuming task of prodding away, endlessly. “I’m probably worse than you at this whole ‘dating’ thing, but I don’t think this really qualifies as second-date material, Blue.”

“Says the woman that wanted to watch Kung Fu Hustle.”

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.”

Hit play and pop some extra beef in a waiting mouth. Korra ignores the protests for the sake of protest. Takes refuge in the clopping of hooves (coconuts).

Then, as Arthur speaks to cartoon God, a question rears its ugly head.

_Did she say she’s worse than me?_

_At dating?_

_Impossible._

“Has it, uh… has it been a while?” Korra asks, softly. So softly it is almost lost under the acting of dear, sweet, almost as in love with alcohol as she, Graham Chapman. “Since you, uh, dated anyone?”

Torn from the screen, green eyes meet her hesitant blues. “Hmm?”

It’s like she hadn’t heard. Mid-bite of fried rice, the driver looks at her with confusion on her face, words just sinking in. As they do, a subtle shifting occurs. The kind you get when there’s an itch, or a tingle runs up your spine. Like a shiver, almost, but just different enough to be distinguishable.

“You could say that,” the NCO chuckles, turning back to the movie, smile slightly diminished. “Had a couple things in college. Didn’t work out, obviously. Groundhog Day.”

Ah.

Korra knew that feeling. Each day feeling like the one before. Same in every way: good and bad, mistakes and triumphs. Telling yourself, “ _This time, it’ll be different. I’ll be different._ ** _She’ll_** _be different.”_ And it never was.

Luckily, Asami **was** different. Unafraid to be imperfect as she sank her teeth into a meal that would have made the Other balk. To enjoy the pepperoni and peppered chicken as she elaborates above a debate of witches and ducks. “You know the drill: girl meets girl, and it looks like you have so much in common, right off the bat. Get some drinks, a couple meals, then it all goes to hell from there.”

“Ha! Yeah, that sounds about right,” the host laughs back, tensely staring ahead so the most obvious question would' be asked. “I guess we're both hopeless with romance.”

Fingers meet on Korra's thigh. Just as natural as always. Drawn like magnets to each other, or as moths to the flame. The one roaring in her chest as silky hair rest on her shoulder, pinned by that beautiful brain, all its debaucheries and quips.

Not so hopeless that it feels forced to brush lips on the crown of her head. Breath in her scent and enjoy the closeness. No expectations.

Minutes pass.

They laugh at the old jokes and silly gags. Quote the knights and nonsense, word-for-word. Each moment is joy. Stuffing themselves silly as soon as the stomach settles from the last bite. Slowly work closer with every passing minute, until one is practically lounging on the other by the musical number.

Towards the finale, Asami's eyes start to wander to a single spot.

Framed and hung by the hands of a proud mother, dress blues in the accompanying photo. Only out in the open for the work put into the project. Even then, kept on a shelf out of the way of everything. Out of sight of anyone who wasn’t looking for it in the first place.

They glint, the gilded pair, shiny as when first awarded.

Unworn, except for on that occasion.

Reminders of a day she wishes forgotten. One of the worst. The ones she carried with her every day, literally. “You want to ask, don't you?” the Lieutenant says as credits roll.

Smile a smile that could make the clouds part and angels sing. Kind, and pure as the desert sand. Pretty face in its second prettiest way. “I do,” she admits, shrugging lightly. “Something tells me it’s not a story you want to tell, though.”

Laugh it off, just a little.

An excuse to rub her neck and look away for a moment. Speak the almost shaking words while her mind struggles to keep bad memories buried deep. “Haha, not really.”

_Not ever…_

_To you or anyone, if I can help it._

“That’s okay,” whispers the mind-reader, cocking her head a little to one side. She bends, gripping the last slice of pepperoni and taking a bite. In her eyes is an understanding. Empathy that didn’t make the skin crawl or blood boil. Though, that may have something to do with her kicking her legs over the arm of the couch, head coming to rest on a hastily vacated lap. “I’m sure you’ll tell me when it’s time.”

Still nomming on her latest slice, the driver’s free hand slides to cover the scar on her belly. Old and faint, but still drawing a flinch whenever brushed.

Their eyes are still fixed on each other’s, smiles just the same. But there’s a tenseness in the closeness. An understanding, of sorts. That, despite how she leaned into the fingers that ran through her glorious mane, Asami still held a few things back. Didn’t judge that Korra did the same.

Lovers they might be, but two dates and a handful of shared beds wasn’t quite enough to spill everything kept under lock-and-key.

Some things, yes, of course.

Volunteered as the autoplay takes over the viewing choice for the evening. Some other Brit comedy, unknown to either of the women. It wasn’t like they were paying the closest attention. Too busy laughing at their own jokes to care about the ones on screen. Gossiping over observations of the Company, and beyond. Sharing minor snapshots of childhood misadventure, all the skin and bones ruffled and broken along the way.

From that movie, into the next. Snacking on food gone cold. Increasing the bizarreness of combinations in an effort to maintain consciousness.

And, it worked.

For the most part.

Even with the benefit of late night colas, time ravaged the minds of both women. They got gigglier, sillier, handsier by the minute. Alcohol plays its minor role, but three beers apiece wasn’t nearly enough to get them near as dumb as they were becoming.

As eleven rolls by, spirits couldn’t be higher. With teeth freshly cleaned by the brush from her stashed overnight bag, Asami plants kiss after kiss on Korra’s face. Little pecks of nothingness that meant everything. Such lovely intimacy from the lovely little liar, welcomed with open arms by the recipient.

“I should,” Kiss, “probably tell you this,” Kiss, “now.” With a meeting of lips that stole the breath from her lungs, the child of wealth had to stop herself. Just to get words out, really. “I, um, I’m not _out_.”

_Huh?_

_You’re not- oh, that’s right. Words are a thing people use._

“To anyone?”

Between Korra’s surprised stiffening and Asami’s uncomfortable shifting, the later nearly slides from her perch to the unforgiving floor.

Long ago, her back had turned from the screen. More than thirty minutes left in the last picture of the night, she had taken to Korra’s lap, held secure by hands that would never let go, if asked. Rather uncomfortable for both, but wonderfully close. Able to whisper secrets like teenagers.

Knees press into the straining cushions on either side, pulling at the officer’s grasp, a tad. “It’s,” she begins, before sighing into a renewed smile, “Complicated.”

_Isn’t it always._

Not that she could judge. Dancing around the topic had been the Waters MO for years. Excuses abundant for her to use. From school, to moving, and even a fledgling affinity for sport. All had been ‘more important’ at the time.

Fear and uncertainty from within.

A family reputation to maintain from without. Honor, duty, loyalty. Cornerstones of her childhood. Following in her father’s footsteps, as she’d always wanted.

“Dad?”

“Dad.”

Of course it was, the way she talks about him. Beloved, but slightly distant and bumbling. A heavy-handed form of love. The kind parents smother their children with when they have no idea what else to do. Full of trips and presents, with promises kept or broken more by fate than choice. But so little of that most important thing of all. The only one both sides were truly after: Time.

Right now, they had time.

All night to lounge and talk. Play little games as the television dims to black.

“I know what that’s like,” the soldier sympathizes, holding her girlfriend still. Trying to be just a little like what her platoon thought of her. Confident, bold, a rock to stand on. Not a fool muddling her way through things she had no idea of how to handle. “Are you as tired as I feel?”

“I bet you do,” Asami smirks, before sighing. The weight of a weary head falls to her chair’s shoulder, hair forming a curtain between them. “And, yes.”

Up.

Bring the woman with, held tight and careful as a babe.

A sleepy groan from her parcel of dead weight. Just as beautiful, and even more endearing, somehow. “Knock it off, Korra,” the green-eyed NCO weakly protests, with even the gaul to try and wriggle free. “Stooop!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop being sexy. I’m tired,” Asami says, fading by the second.

Yawns hit them both, one after the other. Breath, soft and warm, against the crook of her neck. An occasional flutter of eyelashes, motion of lips. Fingers clench into her back with every step, the subconscious mind devolving to instinct as higher functions start winding down. So like the driver, to rev up high and fast, only to sputter out just as suddenly.

“He was always busy, you know?” the dozing woman carries on from before, absentmindedly letting her lips brush one of Korra’s weak-points. “I told some friends and they were fine with it. Told Mom, before she…”

Trailing off, it made the officer think she had given wakefulness a rest. Until her kiss to a vulnerable temple was met with a slight shiver.

At the bed, now.

So different than the last trip to this destination, but, much the same, as well. Full of stupid thoughts and dumber dreams. It was here life had become FUBAR. Here that life had been pleasure unimaginable. Where she’d pitied herself to sleep, drunk herself there the next night. Sat up jittering after her run, pinching her arm to see whether she had experienced some type of amazing trip.

As the cover is thrown over her, Asami settles, explanations becoming muddled in yawns as her overindulgence finally catches up to her. “Go to sleep, babe,” shushes the host, flicking off the light for her. “You can tell me in the morning.”

Caught by the wrist on the way back to the couch. Surprising strength stopping her dead. “Get in here, you idiot.”

Such a tired smile on both their lips.

_Fuck it. Why not?_

“Move over, then,” Korra chuckles, falling into place.

To dream dreams of them, and the algorithmic workings of the Army schedule. That hard deadline on moments like this. Closer, closer, ever closer to a land beyond the sea. A sea of sand, and stone, and ancient cities looming from the barren desert wastes.

Just have to make these moments last all the longer. Break time to treasure every microsecond of an arm wrapping around a waist, of a final kiss before the nightfall.

_I don’t want to give this up…_

_I want this to be every night. Morning. All of it. She’s so soft. And warm._

_Fuck my life._

_I think I lo-_

Sleep comes before she can finish. A problem for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news and bad news.  
> The bad news is, there won’t be an update next time this is scheduled to come out. I have outpaced my outline, so the time is needed to plan ahead and get all the ducks in a row.  
> Good news, when this comes back we’ll be shipping off to Mesopotamia. Real action, real hardship, and real strain on the girls relationship. Will they survive the rigors of combat, coming out the other end better for it as a more loving couple?  
> Of course! It’s me! I don’t do bummer endings.


	13. Three Little Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last morning stateside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's good to be back with this. Sorry it's taken so long to update, but I have a roadmap to follow now. That should help consistency and the overall plot.  
> Hope you enjoy.

Korra woke with lips on her neck.

Soft, ruby lips, so plump and kissable. Amazingly skilled at that and other, more carnal, things. That had issued such utterances the night before. Foul curses and needy whines to make the sternest soul blush crimson as her favorite shade of lipstick.

Now, they weren't so fierce. Only resting against the ridge of her spine, just higher than shoulders sore from hefting Asami about like she loved. A hundred kisses a second, and only one. Lovely and intimate after the most intimate of acts. Sex better than sex, or love-making, or the lover's embrace, or any of the other flowery terms poets had dreamed up over the eons.

Skin was warm and sticky on her own, scent of stale sweat and sex on the air. Not exactly unpleasant, but an embarrassing reminder neither had the energy to drag the other to the shower upon completing their hours of debauchery.

Perfect, perky breasts are held fast to the officer, in a way that would excite any other time. Just as the clinging arms on either side of her own chest would.

But, alas, such urges had been well sated the night before.

Not that she minds, really. There were worse things than dumbly laying in the arms of the woman she… well. As occasionally irritating, maddening, and absolutely infuriating Asami could be, it was well balanced out by the good. Even the bad, honestly, left the driver with only a better reflection in Korra's eye. An endearing set of quirks and rebellion. Sweet and fierce, in equal measure.

With that first deep breath of the morning, her smell.

God, she loves that smell. Even when it it was slightly soured, like now. Full of that which might have been better off down the drain. It was still her.

Love her.

Had danced around saying such for weeks, now. Never the right time for something so heavy during their brief affair. Too full of secluded, secretive dates, far from prying eyes and interlopers. Nights of passion, all too short, half leaving them to part before the wondrous sensation she now bathes in.

Warm. Close. Snuggled tight in an unfamiliar arrangement. Exactly the opposite of what the parties had silently agreed on. What her selfish heart had ever desired.

To hold, be held. Have someone worth coming home for.

Someone that made her mind go still. With whom the slamming of a car door didn't set the chest to hammering, and whose mere presence was enough to keep only the good and happy memories of service in the fore.

The pain of leaving this place, this perfect embrace, was almost physical. It was as addicting as her smile, her kisses, her prodding jokes, and moans of sublime pleasure.

However, life must go on.

On this day, as any other. More so, if honesty was to be the currency of exchange.

In only a short number of hours, less than the fingers of a hand, this place would be left to memory. They would take to the blue skies of heaven, carried on the wings of the irritating, irritable birdmen to the land of Babylon and Gilgamesh. Far from home and safety, but bound by a hull of steel and ceramic to the other. Intimately close in distance and mutual trials, but impossibly far from moments like these.

Another heavy burden to bear over, at the very least, six-months of combat deployment. Sand, sweat, and oil drenched travel through howling windstorms and withering mortar fire.

All the more reason to get breakfast on the burner, and her lover out the door before sunrise. No sense in torturing themselves more than necessary. Dragging out the chance of discovery at the last moment. Putting extra stress atop the both of them.

Yet arms hold tight at the first attempt, squeeze harder at the second.

Hushed whispers tickle the fine hair of Korra's spine, lips moving against sensitive skin to form words for only her to hear. “Don't go.”

Simple enough instructions to follow.

Instruction.

Whatever.

“Okay,” Korra accepts with nary a hint of protest. The bed was warm and dry, warding off the chill of outside's unseasonable cold snap and accompanying drizzle. Free of the sand which would become the bane of every sane soldier's existence in less than a full day of plane journeys. “Have you been up long? You sound exhausted.”

A smile, twitches, before falling again. “Most people would be tired after last night,” Asami says in an attempt at humor that falls flat in her croaky, morning whisper. Such a tone stirs suspicion as soon as her grip starts pulling further. “And yes. Your snoring kept me up.”

_Says the living chainsaw._

With an eye-roll heard around the world, Korra pushes aside the falsity.

Something troubles her, though. In the unwavering tightness of the embrace, there is also a nervous shiver. A clammy aspect to the otherwise all-consuming delight of intimate human contact. Unfelt, at first, in the drowsy fugue that befell the tanker more and more in the early hours of her mornings. Something which contrasts sharply with the snapped attention trained into her well before the first reverie of boot.

“Did you sleep?” she asks, fully conscious and in a constant state of fidgeting, if only for the space to breath free and break the pressure on her tender, jagged tear.

An added tenseness to the driver's arms reveals the answer before an excuse can form.

“Nerves?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Asami sighs, lifting her head to bring her face within millimeters of her lover's ear. Her breath tickles even more, now, making goosebumps rise on the cheek it struck. “Woke up to use the latrine at about o-one-thirty, couldn't settle down after that.”

Mental arithmetic this early in the morning should be a court-martialable offense, in her humble opinion, but the love-dumb soldier did it anyways.

Dinner had been late, due to last minute drills beyond either of their control. 0900, at the very earliest. Afterward, the obligatory comedy hour. Things not available on the Sergeant's tightly stretched budget, and just barely on her own via the complimentary internet the her landlord offers to anyone who keeps their bills up to date.

Most consuming of time and energy had been their frantically passionate, and occasionally melt-your-heart tender, night of lovemaking. Time went fuzzy at this point, likely due to her mind turning to mush after a while.

All of it points towards a tentative burnout time of 1130 to 0000. Once the kissing and pillow-talk had faded to naught but incoherent murmurs.

Less than two hours.

Asami had spent less time recouping her strength during the moon's reign over the earth than she had running punitive laps the same day.

Fingers gently pry at the hands anchoring the women together. Despite a moment of hesitation, the driver quickly relents in allowing Korra to turn over. Eyes meet, and the officer can see the swirling tempest dwelling inside them. What was once unreadable now shone clear and bright as a lighthouse beacon.

Fear.

Subdued, but nonetheless thriving.

Exhaustion.

Not just of the body, but the mind, as well. The kind of weariness only brought on by a constant, nagging anxiety, only growing by the day as it was repressed and refined by isolation from outlet and discussion.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“You look like you want to talk about it. But, knowing you, you'll just drown me in sarcasm so you don't have to.”

“When did I become the sarcastic one?” asks the driver, a hint of seriousness in her features. One brow lifts to give a further glimpse of the vibrant green darkened by hours of excess wakefulness. Still, she relents to inevitability, even if her expression fails slightly at its coming. “Fine, fine, have it your way. But, are we talking CO to subordinate, or girlfriend and… other girlfriend.”

Snorting, the host revels in her momentary intellectual superiority. Nothing in their interactions made Korra question their secret romance more than being outwitted and out-thought by that beautiful brain while on duty.

With an unyielding, yet tender hand, the attempt at distraction gliding down her side was interrupted. “If you keep doing that we'll be doing it with you on the floor.”

“Can't blame a girl for trying, can you?”

_Yes._

_Yes, I can._

_But, now's not the time to tell you that. And, I like it when you're flirty._

Settling for her best imperious stare, the officer chooses to silently wait for her partner to waver on her own. To push forward with her natural aggression might make resolution withdraw before her. Perhaps, in her darkest nightmares, it may push them apart to some small degree. Stress an already stressful romance further than necessary.

Asami's gaze drifts off, or rather it goes completely unfocused. A stare that gazed a thousand yards and more. “For the past few days, everytime I close my eyes I see...” For a moment she trails off, seeing the very things that had kept Korra awake at night for years.

“I'm sitting in my station, hands on the controls, just like I've done a hundred times. And there's this guy standing in the street in front of me, or sometimes it's the middle of the desert,” the driver relays in a slightly detached tone, eyes dipping to gaze at instruments that exist only in her sleep-sapped mind, before snapping ahead to where the narrow vision slit would be. “Next thing I know, there's a flash of light, and the only thing there is a green circle and a ball of fire. Just headed right for my nose, you know?”

With a deep breath, Asami rises from her story. Sweat starts to bead upon a pale forehead, catching the light of every photon leaking from the bathroom not drawn to emerald eyes, again hooded and drooping.

Stretching herself, Lieutenant Waters presses what she hopes to be a soothing kiss on the bridge of her girlfriend's nose. “Yeah, that would probably keep me up, too.”

“I-I'm scared, Korra,” she says, holding tight and burying her face in an open shoulder.

A tear or two dampens skin already filmed with a layer of salty debris. They would be lost amid that sea of dried saline, just as raindrops on a field of dew. “Good,” the veteran states, smiling to herself slightly. “It's good to be afraid. I'd be more worried if you weren't if, in all honesty. Fear keeps you sharp, that keeps you alive.”

Nails dig painfully into skin and muscle. Each of her love's breaths is a shallow, gasping shudder. Growing panic pulls the rebellious daughter of privilege impossibly close, as if she is attempting to meld the two forms into one by her own desire for comfort in contact.

“Ha, you sound like one of those movies you hate,” the woman mutters, in what might have been a tease under other circumstances.

Indeed she does.

Big speeches about loyalty, honor, and patriotism were best left for the silver screen and blank ink on dusty pages. “I guess I do,” admits the TC, ignoring the sensation of skin struggling to remain intact as keratin did due diligence in testing its durability. “My mom always said 'experience brings wisdom'. Of course, she only ever said that after I did something completely stupid, but the shoe still fits.”

Laughter.

Well, not actually.

A single, dry, humorless scoff was more like the sound that escapes from lips busy gasping for breath.

“I don't know how you stand it. I really don't,” Asami marvels in her hushed morning voice. Not quivering, not her woman, but containing ever more of a nervous haste by the syllable. “My heart feels like it's going to leap out of my chest. I-I-I can't think. I've tried everything, paced around all night, tried to put it out of my head-”

“Breathe,” hushes Korra, demonstrating herself the deep inhales needed, “You're okay. You just need to breathe, 'Sami.”

Light breeze rushes into the driver's flaring nostrils. Out again, breaking upon the face of the one who cradles her. “Let me tell you a little secret,” she whispers in silent confidence, praying her own truth might prove an anchor. “I'm just as scared as you are.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not.”

“YES, you are!”

_Why are you so stubborn? Why do I love that you're so stubborn?_

A demonstration was in order, the officer realizes. One that would be undeniable to the altered mental state of someone experiencing a panic-attack.

Closing her eyes, the tanker steels her nerves for what must be done. Even as her emotions and memories push against and attempt to quash her desire to comfort and counsel the woman she most certainly loves, she guides the New Yorker's hand once more. Along her side in a familiar motion, but stopping short of the usual goal. Back, to a spot both had silently agreed to avoid. Taut, broken, scarred flesh. Singed by fiery metal and rending shockwaves.

_Story time._

“Like you, I was once a massive pain in the ass for my old CO,” she began, to add an element of frustration for her lover to dwell on while the building blocks were lain down. “We were part of the big surge back in '12, and I, being fresh out of Infantry School and therefore the most well-versed person in the world on tactics and protocol, wanted to do my bit.”

Keeping blue eyes fixed to the darting greens, Korra pulls all attention to the reflexive anxiety in her own soul. “But, me being me, I did just about everything to piss everyone around me off. Insubordinate, reckless, and argumentative, with a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas.”

“Sounds like you,” her bedmate accepts, smiling thinly, breathing evening. “Sounds like you and the Colonel.”

With a shrug, the platoon lead carries on. “I wanted people to take me seriously. Just ended up with a bad batch of knuckleheads that didn't give a damn.” Memory floods back. Of silent meals in the corner of raucous mess-halls. Double duty and bruised digits. “But, my Sergeant decided that I was worth the extra paperwork. Dragged my ungrateful ass out of gun-truck duties. Got me bumped to E-3, for good measure. Can't, for the life of me, figure out why.”

Nails relenting, arms relaxing, Asami became a captive, attentive audience. Hyper-focusing on every word, and each syllable and alternative meaning of the same. Trying to instinctively pull away from the grip holding her to Korra's scar.

Just as the officer would her own.

“About a week later, I think, we got sent out to this little village across the river from Fallujah. Insurgents had been taking potshots at the local PD, nothing special.”

Blink.

See the scene replay like a movie.

“I was on the right side of the road, about ten feet behind the guy in front of me. We were all shooting the shit, as you do. Trying not to get jittery over nothing, you know?” Another blink, filled with the most vivid face. Realer than real. Enhanced, surely, by what came after. “Sarge had just told us to keep quiet. I don't remember what I said back.”

Fire burns, deep in her gut.

An almost vomit inducing level of phantom agony. Turning blood and skin to lava and ice, teeth the scraping chisels of hardened steel, chirping against the opposite.

“Woke up a few seconds later, mouth full of sand and shrubs,” says the veteran, tang of copper mixing with the grit of silica. “I thought I had tripped on a rock. Bit my lip or something, since that was the only thing that really hurt. Then I realized no one else was standing up, either. My helmet was a couple feet away, so I reached out for it. And, I could hear again. Feel, again. It felt like someone had hit my with a baseball bat.”

“Um, Korra?” the newbie whispers, the gentlest of upturn to her lips, “I get that you're trying to do the 'supportive girlfriend' thing, but you're still really bad at it. And it's actually making me feel worse.”

_Le sigh…_

Fast-forwarding well into the tale, the officer put the dirty details to the back her mind to curse and writhe while skin turned pallid at the reddening of coarse, bitter grains. “Alright, we'll skip to the part where I almost shit myself every time a car door slammed for basically a year,” the storyteller offers, rolling to the side so she could stare up at the ceiling.

“You're smart enough to have wondered why I retrained,” Korra smirks, closing her eyes briefly to hear the rumbling of guzzling engines. “Every time someone visited me, or called, or sent me a letter, it felt like I'd been hit again. BAM! I was back on the ground in some dusty village I'd never heard of. And it was like that for ages. But I knew if I quit, took my papers and fucked off, that I'd just be doing exactly what my CO said I was.”

To her side, Asami shifts. Slowly rising up so she could look down upon her own commander. “Did it get any better? The, uh, this, I mean.”

“I don't see how waking up with you could get any better.”

“Stop. Please. Just, answer the question.”

Kiss her lips. Steal the frown from it and smile so that it might bring that which cracked the sky in twain. “Yes. It did,” Korra tells her. “Got some therapy, which I hated and you don't need. Got transferred somewhere people weren't assholes. And, I put twelve inches of armor between me and the bad guys. Which, I have to say, was a really good idea.”

The palm, which now rests on her muscled belly, relaxes utterly. Midnight black curtain of hair, somehow still billowing with the scent of cherries, falls down on her pillow, head doing the same, shortly after.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” the TC questions, brow raised in indignance, “I spill my soul to you and all I get is 'Huh'?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Ears catch the sound of deep, cyclical, calming breaths. One could only wish to be close enough to hear as a hammering heart eased its pace to normal rhythm. “I want you to say that you'll keep your eyes open,” the officer instructs her junior in the closest thing to an order issued in these walls. “That you'll watch my back. Watch our backs, and let us watch yours. Tell me you won't do anything stupid.”

“Dumber than bunking up with you? Impossible.”

They both laugh. So sweet the sound, the very taste of it, as they take the time to rise to the first upright position of the morning.

Blankets are instinctively held to defend unnecessary modesty. Nothing either hadn't seen before. I more than a few cases, fondled. Just as familiar as the weight of Asami's weary head taking up residence on her shoulder.

“I promise,” the sleepless vixen says, sounding like sh was in desperate need of caffeine.

“Feeling better?”

“A little, I guess. I don't feel like I'm going to have a heart attack anymore, at least.”

“That's good to hear, Legs,” Korra replies, her own words strong and vibrant as the coming dawn. An invigoration fills her every fiber. A desire to set off on this day with as positive an attitude as humanly possible. Kick the sorrow from her girlfriend's thoughts as she stomped any layabouts and potential smugglers of an Irish persuasion of their un-Army conduct.

But first, one more thing must be said. “Hey?”

“Hey yourself, Blue.”

“I like you.”

Every sense lights up at the grin that instantly spreads across Asami's face. How electricity seems to sparkle in her emeralds while they flick tiredly up to meet the waiting sapphires. “I certainly hope you like me. We do have illegal sex, after all.”

_Fuck my life, of course you'd-_

“Now it's your turn to stop.”

“Never,” the driver refuses, patting a thigh under the covers. “It's why you ' _like_ ' me. My snark, tight butt, love of bad movies, eyes, and total lack of sports knowledge.”

_I…_

_I mean, that's about it. As far as pillar stones go, that is the basis of our relationship._

“Do you… _like_ me?”

Oh, that hum doesn't sound good. Not at all. The mischief in it would make Coyote, Loki, and Eris proud. And her lifting of the comforter to sneak a peek at utter blackness made even mortals snort. “I mean, so long as you keep those in shape, I kind of have to,” she jokes, before relenting to the threat of getting shoved from her perch. “Yes, Korra, I _like_ you.”

“Just like?”

“Don't push me before I have my coffee, baby. It never ends well.”

Smiling wide, and planting a fresh kiss on her beloved's brow, the soldier concedes to her logic. “Alright, then. I'll go make your coffee.”

“I guess I'll shower first, then.”

Off they go.

With only minimal ogling, suggestive comments, and rolling of eyes. One in sweat bottoms and an oversized Spurs tee. The other bare as the day she was born, to the land of suds and soothing steam. Each with growling bellies and a bounce in every step.

Only one thing bothers Korra as she sets the tap to full blast, dumping grounds into the paper filter. “What were you talking about?” she asks, perfectly innocently. “Keep what in shape?”

“I can't hear you over all that not-coffee going on!”

_Fuck my life…_

_She has to mean my gut, right?_

_Right?_

_…_

_Oh. I see what she's doing. Yeah, there's no way she's getting me that easy._

_..._

"God dammit."

As her shirt falls to the floor with the same ease it was put on, a new resolve comes to bear. To get an answer to this most burning of questions, and still make their marshaling-point on time.

Give or take five minutes.

Six months was a long time, after all. Best to make every second count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Korra came off as comforting as possible. It's not a task I personally excel with, since I tend to handle stress with all the dignity of running into a door, then tripping over my shoelaces. 
> 
> Next Time: Asami in Iraq


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions of a woman abroad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny story. I finished this up yesterday, then had a sudden realization that I didn't like the later half and needed to redesign the whole thing. Apologies if this disjointed the tone, some.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, regardless.

Stepping off the transport was like willingly entering the maw of a white-hot blast furnace. According to the oh-so-smug crew chief, it was the third triple-digit day in a row, with an entire summer to come.

Wind spat across the runway, kicked up by the turbines of a Qatar Air flight which couldn't wait for the poor souls exiting without the benefit of a cozy terminal to get sheltered from the roar and gale. Sand, fine and coarse, buffets the driver. Grains ping off her sunglasses like thousands of tiny hailstones, or find the tiniest gap in her lips to grit on sliding teeth. They taste as bitter as any, cut with an unfamiliar metallic tang.

Above, a clear blue sky. So opposed to the rain and cloud of home, it felt like an entirely different world. Which, in a way, it was.

This place, already, felt tense.

Like a clock spring wound to the breaking point, perhaps a quarter-turn beyond. On edge, every soul, save the locals accustomed to the day-to-day of conflict in the north, and the riff-raff of foreigner's come to blood themselves on it.

Sleep had dominated her journey. All the way across the Atlantic, barring a short layover on the East coast for fuel and a pilot change, her eyes had been welded closed. Into an abyss, dreamless. Blessed had she been, truly, to snooze away the journey. To deprive herself the gradual rewinding of herself.

Dinner had come in Frankfurt. (Or, was it breakfast?) With it, reflection. A hint of regret on not accepting one last quickie in the shower, over cold chilly-dogs and soggy tater tots.

At least the cola had been cold. If, well, different. Some local brand called Vita.

However, she could only long for that manner of meal, now. For it was all “hustle hear, rush there,” now. All the senior NCOs and Officers were herding newcomers like cats. Berating the leg-stretchers and face-slappers, kicking those that kissed the ground for surviving turbulence and an inter-service piloting experience.

Among them, Korra, most vocal of all.

The brass on her collar was gone, replaced with her cap badge and a scowl at every saluting hand. For eyes were watching, many eyes.

Far off, across the airfield, mill militiamen in a mishmash of equipment. Menacing figures, draped in curtains of brass, faces burnt and lashed by the unforgiving desert. Veterans of the campaign against Daesh, other militias, and possibly the Peshmerga, as well.

“Get your ass in gear, Sato!” Lieutenant Waters orders, eyes stern and confident.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

The weight of her pack sunk deep in her shoulder, full of all the Army issued and allows. Plus a few other things, expertly hidden by one who was responsible for search and seizure of said contraband.

Some toiletries, extra packs of cards, spending cash for the commissary and base shops (should they be so graced), and a bottle of Jim Beam.

Drink could wait.

Korra would not, and she had said as much.

Head down, eyes forward, keep clear of Sgt. Steel, at all costs. Lest she begin her tour running alongside the waiting convoy of deuce-and-a-halfs, engines ready and rumbling to carry them off to parts unknown.

Another Platoon Lead, unfamiliar in the moment, gestures for all to approach. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, shake it off. You're getting off a plane, not building one. Hustle, HUSTLE!” the boring man barks, pointing off to his right in the most Hollywood way possible, “Bravo, you're that way. Charlie, this side. Double time it, people!”

Four trucks, sixty-three people.

Seems legit.

And it is the tightest squeeze. Cramming themselves like sardines, heads hitting canvas, other heads, and a particularly tough bit of metal. Bags piled carelessly on any surface flat enough. Laps, floor, fellow bags, feet and the runner board all enveloped in a drab olive tone.

It's impossible to tell who's who in the frenzy. Which hand is touching who's what, and where it can go shove itself.

The Irishman curses, loudly, as an elbow cracks him in the nose. Hands clutch the offended area, and he damns fools and folly, alike. Though, not as much as he had the discovery of his cask worth of whiskey, neatly stowed in the ammo-rack, for safekeeping. “Fer the love of Christ, lads, I'm on your fooking side! Can we not save it for the other side, please?”

“Sorry, Staff Sergeant.”

“My bad, Sullivan! Won't happen again!”

“I sure hope it don't,” hopes he, flicking an involuntary tear from his eye. “Dental plan ain't what it used to be. Not since-”

A foot slams on the runner, fierce green eyes glaring over all. Mum silence overcomes them, these few, unruly charges. “Everyone, pipe down and sound off!” the Platoon Sergeant demands, finally not clutching one photo or another of a smiling child to her chest.

Down the list, every voice, in varying levels of stupor. All her comrades were here.

And yet, she felt alone.

Korra wasn't with her. Not her Korra, at least.

Instead, the Lieutenant. Her nemesis. Stubborn, rule-loving, and quick to temper, with lungs that could scream for days at any who stepped out of line.

They and she, well, they didn't get along. It was a match made in the darkest pits of Tartarus, full of ironies and muttered grumblings that Asami had seen, instantly. Where all the things she loved were morphed into traits that made one wish to tear great chunks of hair from her head, to cast on the breeze in frustration.

Kind observation, became hovering micromanagement. Honesty turns brutal.

More than once, heads had butted on the most minor of maintenance details. Shortcuts and corner cutting were strictly disallowed. They were to be better, not faster. Thorough to the point of obsession. If it took five hours instead of one, so be it.

Just do the thing  **right** .

She smiles, as she often does, at this greatest of conflicts between them. For, much as her girlfriend enjoyed passing the hours complaining about Colonel Beifong's propensity for overbearing stubbornness, and refusal to back down on anything, she herself did just the same to those under her. If in a more constructive, tutoring way.

“Got enough room?” chuckles the jester, crammed tightly to her side. On his boyish face, not a care in the world. Only excitement and bubbling optimism the driver wishes only to infect her.

“I think my kidneys are being crushed,” she jokes back, with a grin of her own.

The loader shrugs, lifting the shoulders on either side of his in unison. “I wouldn't worry about it. You only need the one. Ain't that right, Bro?”

“Ow!”

His light nudging elbow became I devastating gouge as the transport jumps into motion, gears grinding horrifically under the hand of an unskilled or incompetent chauffeur. Even when it was an Oshkosh, not a Cadillac, being subjected to this torture, every tanker's face went taut with sympathetic pain, more than a few hissing in chorus. Those at the rear, however, were too busy clinging to the bench seat and handrails to care of the transport, lest they go tumbling out the back, onto unforgiving tarmac.

“When we get off this bus, I swear, I'm going to kick you halfway back to Germany,” Mako wheezes, eyes blazing with pain and the rage it caused. He doubles over, groaning wordlessly, depriving the Sergeant a scapegoat for his sibling's rambling conversations. “Someone, kill me, please.”

Pats lather the gunner's back from all sides. A smack or two for the corporal.

Just normal hazing of the young buck.

But, as the platoon rumbles across the airfield, communal joviality is quick to fade. Smiles diminish to neutral grins, jokes held to themselves while crews pair off in private conversations, some continuing on from the belly of Boeing's beast.

Careful not to dwell too long on any single face, Asami attempts to garner the mood of her fellows. Her results are, at best, mixed.

Some, such as herself, are passive listeners, in varying states of discomfort or melancholy. One, the very youngest of all, at eighteen and some months, bore the face of a man condemned. Those few times she had risen for trips to the chemical toilet, Asami had always seen him reading scripture, from a tiny copy of the New Testament that looked well-weathered in his hands.

Most speak softly, tip toeing on eggshells, enthusiasm muted by the news headlines which had sent them on their way. Of the Saudi's continual decent into familial feuding, financial turmoil in the Emirates.

They walk into a second era of upset, in a region already beset by the same.

In other terms, while one battered, snarling head of the serpent was set to be cut off, two more were looming to take its place. Menacing specters in the shadow.

Hence, their very presence in the theater in the first place. What amounts to a gamble on timing, with lives on the line instead of chips, was being played out in Washington and Virginia, Riyadh and Dubai. Trusting that a task force of units, including the yet to be fully reconstituted 2 nd Armored, could buy hours and days for politicians and diplomats to move Heaven and Earth.

How very like the Army. All stick, no carrot.

“Alright, listen up! I'm sure the Colonel's has drilled this into you, by now, but we're gonna go over it, again!” calls the lone officer, one of the few in the third category Asami was noticing in the veterans. The confident, and relaxed. All stiff lips and deep breaths. Stoic, even, like the picture shows. With her own, relishable twist. “For those of you who need a visual aid, Sgt Steel has free copies of the latest 'Why The Fuck Are We Here?' pamphlet.”

Between curses and heavy bumps, the Platoon XO found solid enough grip to flick a bundle of single page, yellowed, moth-eaten pamphlets to the middle of the pack. Right into Asami's lap. The cover features a cartoonish mascot and a single bold word:

**MALARIA**

“'Tropical disease is your greatest enemy',” quotes Bolin from the centerfold, as many hands claw for a copy of antique information. His voice comes straight from the old training films, or possibly Fallout. Deep, and comically chipper. “'Remember, always take your antimalarials on time. Your Medic is your your friend.”

More chuckles, and a boisterous proclamation from the Irishman's gunner, “Clearly, someone's never met Doc Summers!”

“Or gotten a shot from him!” another guffaws, patting a sore spot on his arm.

Meanwhile, Asami's narrowed eyes glare at the woman she loves out of uniform, silently cursing the ease with which her flippant facade was maintained.

It was even easier to hate, than usual, with her backdrop being worn tan canvas and mid-afternoon Mesopotamian sun. The reek of diesel engines and burning oil from their own truck, those ahead, and the escort which had slotted itself behind them. An armed shadow of their early arriving infantry, judging by the waving hands and taunting grins.

_ Oh, she's got jokes, now. _

_ Soon as you and me get in a room together, I'm going to give you what for. _

With a whistle, all are called back to the half buried CO at the front of the wagon. Jokers, jesters, and enthralled spectators, alike. “What part of 'quiet down' don't you mess-detail rejects get?” she snaps, turning absolutely withering in a flash. The look shifts everyone away, pushing those already at the edge even further. “Sgt Steel, the next person who interrupts me gets half-rations, tonight, and a five-mile run in full pack. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Kuvira says with a sadistic grin directed right at the Irishman, kicking bags and legs so she might keep her grip. “Crys-tal.”

“Excellent.”

In utter silence, save that which she could not control, Lieutenant Waters spoke her speech. “I'll keep it short, since I hate giving these things nearly as much as you hate hearing them. We're shacking up here for a few days, until everyone's combat ready. After that, we'll be hitched to the 15 th Iraqi Infantry Division, with 2 nd B-C-T to our south.”

“Rules of engagement are simple: we are to provide armored support to the locals, no  **more** , no less.” Her emphasis felt pointed. Directed towards just a few, if not Asami alone. “I'm counting on all of you to do your job, and keep your empty heads down, got it?”

Crickets.

No one budges, or even makes a sound. Just staring at their commander, or nodding in acceptance of her commandments.

“This is the part where you all say 'Yes, Ma'am'.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” all groan.

_ Fuck you _ , one thinks, biting her lip as she had trained.

“And remember, no heroics, from any of you,” Korra insists, more herself than at any other time this day. It's subtle. So much so it might be missed. But, to the driver it's perfectly clear. She was the tensest of them all. Just as when her voice had quivered in the midst of storytelling, it wavers from her perfect confidence. “Anyone caught doing an impression of Sgt York is fair game.”

With gusto, this time around, a hearty, “Yes, Ma'am!” Along with a degree of renewed levity and camaraderie induced jesting.

Rising as high as she might, the Lieutenant digs into the little details with an energy Asami knows well. Casting aside everything, except the task that lay ahead, and her most treasured of given tasks. The one that Asami knew made her happiest of all.

Protecting those under her.

That being said, she had admitted to taking pleasure in leading those same people by the nose, on occasion. “Okay, now that the sappy stuff is out of the way, time for the bad news. Colonel Beifong has ordered everyone who hasn't qualified as a Marksman to report to the firing range for rifle drills, immediately.”

Oh, the curses muttered in this moment are bluer that the sea or sky. Such utterances of hatred for the salt-and-pepper haired silver oak. No wonder blue eyes gleam with satisfaction and glee.

“Stop your bitching!” snaps the loving mother, hammering her foot to the floor to regain calm. “You're soldiers, act like it. Or do you all want to take that run?”

“No, Sergeant!”

A shot rings out, distinct among the clamor.

More of them!

Volleys of automatic fire. A distant staccato of Kalashnikovs, leveling hot death at the occupants, none of whom make motions to take cover or flee. But for the sleep-deprived Sergeant, who leaps to her own feet like a spring.

Just in time for the brakes to squeal, sending her tumbling over the Corporal and his sibling. A projectile of an unknown mass of woman and materiel, hurtling headlong over and through anything or anyone with the misfortune of getting in the way. One knee strikes something suspiciously like an ear, the other clanging painfully into a support. Hand slam into a bag on one side and a gut on the other.

“FUCK!”

“SHIT!”

“What the hell, Sato?!”

“Life is pain...”

True to the wheezing complaint, everything hurts: boots to braincase.

Despite the tumble, and resulting disorientation, Asami was positive she was bleeding from her shin. Likely bruised heavily, elsewhere.

Although…

Her face felt remarkably comfortable. It might have something to do with where it landed: the lap of her unsuspecting Lieutenant, who swears better than any of them in surprise. Thighs known only too well go stiff as muscle nearly jolts Korra on reflex from her cramped position. Perhaps the only reason she doesn't do so is to calm and subdue the other rabble.

But the driver doesn't heed the calls to exfil and hunt the head of their most incompetent of chauffeurs. Not immediately.

_ Mmmn, this is nice… _

_ She's so soft... and angry. I bet she won't yell at me while I'm down here,  _ she reasons to herself, in the embrace of that which she had refused only hours before.  _ Five months, thirty-and-a-half days until I get to be down here again, probably. Might as well rub it in. _

_ Long game foreplay. _

“Is she out cold?” the loader asks with concern, scooting from under the New Yorker's legs.

Deep breaths punctuate what was either suppressed rage or arousal. Hope being for the later, but safe money on the former. “You'd better be, Sato, 'cause it's the only thing that'll keep me from shoving my boot up your ass when you decide to Get. The. Fuck. UP! SOLDIER!”

_ My  _ **_fine_ ** _ ass, I think you mean. _

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Some laugh at the woman's misfortune, others bow their head in sympathy. All vanish into the bright barrier of sunlight, abandoning shade and discomfort for sun and more intense duress.

When, once entangled, Asami joins them. Learning why she'd been the only on to jump for the sky.

_ A firing range? _

_ … _

_ Oh. _

Korra's right behind, shooing her gaggle of gawkers towards the Quartermaster under Mother-Hen's care. “Someone's jumpy, today,” she whispers, low enough no others could hear over the practicing infantry. “I seem to remember telling you to calm down. Lighten up a little, Sato. You'll scare the children.”

“I'm tired.”

“I am aware,” acknowledges the smirking CO, holding a finger up to the XO's question, “Which is why you should start running, now.”

“What! Why?!”

Temper bubbles, that pesky vein pulsing in her forehead. The moron of a driver was the one who'd sent her flying, by treading on the brake pedal with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. It was physics!

Physics!

Clearing her throat, her girlfriend steps close, casting the illusion of an intense berating. “Well, first, you interrupted me. Big mistake. Second, you probably concussed Bolin, and Mako might not be able to go to the bathroom for a week with how hard you hit him. Fourth, I'm supposed to not like you very much. And, lastly-” Her smile grew wicked and sadistic. Fear tickles the back of the spine. “-you left your laundry on the floor, again.”

_ Really? _

“Really, Ma'am?”

“You know how to count to a mile, right? Two sound fair to you?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” And the woman nods in dismissal. Salutes are exchanged, and the lovers part with nary a glance at the other. Only a final, maddening taunt. “I'll miss you.”

Feet hit the ground running. Powering Asami away from this unwinnable argument with herself. For the scales were tipped against her, the fates declare it so. This one injustice for the sake of secrecy was hardly a steep price to pay.

However, it didn't stop every jarring, painful footfall from being punctuated by two, angry words.

_ Fuck _

_ You _

_ Fuck _

_ You _

It was going to be a long war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual war, next time. These last few chapters will have a varying amount of in-universe time between them, as snapshots of the deployment, rather than a day-to-day telling. I would like to thank everyone who's read, kudosed, and commented, thus far. Getting those emails really brightens my day, so if you can be troubled to leave me any thoughts or opinions, please do so.
> 
> Thanks, again.


	15. Gatekeepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War consists of long stretches of total boredom, interrupted by moments of utter terror. At least that's what I've heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first team do anything remotely dangerous. Hope it isn't a total slog to get through.

Music.

It was always nice to have some of that.

Played over the radio in the depot workhouse, blasting as loud as possible to cut through the cacophony of saws, grinders, welding, and torque wrenches. In the showers, so all had an excuse to keep quiet while the day's sand and grease was scrubbed away. Even the sharp cut of reverie had an enjoyable quality to it, given time.

However, perhaps the best music was that piped through the intercom of an idle Abrams MBT. Fought boredom, fills the empty air, and provides an ample source of material to bitch about for time-killing.

“Oh, for fuck's sake, bro! Really!?” Mako snaps as the maddeningly catchy beat of Happy enters his ears. “How many times did you pick this song?!”

The younger man snickers into his headset, crackly and broken with the interference of the humming powerpack. His head, and therefore mouth, were out of sight, a layer of laminate steel and aluminum between the brothers. It was his turn to mount the vigil over the crowded checkpoint at the edge of the city. To choke on sand with the 240 on his fingertip, ready to rouse the lounging crew at the slightest inkling.

“A few.”

“I think it's a good song, Corporal,” the driver lazily, almost drowsily, chimes in from her little palace of solitude. Or, perhaps hovel was a better word, ever strewn with discarded chip wrappers and broken pencils as it was. “Very… happy.”

_ I'm going to have to talk to her about that, again, aren't I? Hah, and we were getting along so well. _

Yes, Asami had finally settled in, and settled in  **hard** .

Quite what the tipping point had been, Korra wasn't sure. Although, a few moment's sprung to mind. The sight of a lonely KFC sign amidst the sandblasted steel and brick, a care package of books and luxuries to be equally dolled among the favored, a few stolen hours atop Raava under the moonlight.

Most likely seems her safe shell of ceramic armor and cushioning fuel tanks. For, in the belly of the beast, Asami truly relaxes in a way not seen under this almost kiln-esque sun that cooked the living like an oversized oven.

It was her girlfriend's safe place, as this chair was hers. A little world where everything was under control, and no one else can get to you.

Ridiculous, considering the tendency of heavy armor to draw every bullet, shell, bomb, and kitchen sink directly towards itself, but that was hardly their fault. A meter of effective armor thickness naturally gave the impression of safety to the nervous. Invulnerability to the reckless and stupid.

Still, comfort was comfort, and it was good to have her unwind.

“Don't encourage him, Sato,” the Lieutenant chastises in good humor. Probably heatstroke, what with the overworked A/C only managing to keep the inside temperature just short of crematorium levels. “First you stroke his ego, then he just comes back for more, later. You end up feeding him, and he just sticks around, going through your garbage for scraps. Before long, he's taken a big dump on the carpet, you and can't even be bothered to get off the couch to clean it up.”

“Understood, Ma'am,” her lover's voice crackles through the earpiece, in either a chuckle or a particularly bad burst of static.

Moments pass, silently, but for engine noise and Farrell's chipper tune. Then, the loader's half-poached brain catches up with reality, “Hey… I'm not some stray cat. You can't talk to me like that!”

“These shiny silver bars on my shoulder say I can, so there,” comes the reply, passing chapped lips at a wheeze.

_ Note to Future Self: kill person who forgot to bring water. _

Hah, this had been life for the past… ten hours. Sheer, unrelenting heat and boredom. Up before dawn, rumbling out an hour later. Relief for the units arrayed at the very edge of Mosul's suburbs, such as they were. American armor and mechanized infantry, Iraqi regulars with shinier boots and teeth than rifles, and a smattering of militiamen whose final destinations were a mystery to everybody but themselves.

A hodgepodge of forces for a mismatch of a war. Just like old times. Only, with fewer grand designs and more pragmatism.

“Anyone get any mail, recently?” asks the gunner, while the auto shuffle selects some classical number from before living memory. “Barring that, anyone send any mail that managed to get home, recently. Kinda want to see if they're actually shipping the stuff, and not just burning it out back the PO.”

Korra hums, struggling to remember when she'd last sent a letter to anyone. Her last deployment, at the most recent, the officer thought. Christmas card list was shorter than it used to be, and most of her friends had either excellent cell phone coverage, were her subordinates, or both.

It was Asami who spoke first, if only to remind the man of her loving relatives, “I got all that stuff from my dad, end of last week. Said he'd gotten all of my pics in his letter.”

“Maybe it's just you, bro,” Bolin says, tone a little more distant than expected, whole body shifting in his perch as something caught his eye enough to traverse his weapon. A moment later his voice comes through the comms, cool and professional as any, “Got eyes on a suspicious driver. Yellow sedan, might be a Mazda? About ten cars back on the near lane, got a tarp over something in the back seat.”

A hand flies to the joystick for the FLIR, toggling the camera pod right.  _ Yellow Mazda, yellow Mazda, yellow… there! _

There he was.

A single man, lounging in the driver's seat with the same expression she might have had enduring the daily commute. One hand lazily drapes itself over the apex of the wheel, the other fiddling with the radio or climate control.

The benefits of a zoom lens told the TC much. His cargo, whatever it might be was covered by a worn, hole filled blanket, and not a tarp. Irregular in shape, large enough to span the entire back seat, with a distinct peak in the middle that tappers unevenly to either door. And, additionally, it appeared to be moving under its own power.

“Unless they've invented car-bombs with dimples, that one's clear,” she sounds, watching the blanket fall to reveal the faces of three smiling children. A nicety mostly robbed of her sight, lately.

“Roger that.”

“Clear copy.”

The loader and gunner stand down, fingers falling from triggers and muscles relaxing. Whatever Asami's reaction, only she and the Lord knew. Likely a flinch and rapid dart for the controls in a similar reflex to her own thumbing of the CROWS controls. While adorable in her ability to near predict the next turn before it is ordered, the driver was equally predictable, by now.

Speaking of, her breath was now coming through the speaker. Startled breaths, of someone raised straight from relaxed stupor to the step between alertness and panic. “Fucking hell,” the woman curses, though whether she intended to is a mystery. “I am so done with this, man. Stop being so serious!”

A request the officer shared.

“Sorry, Sergeant.”

“Why do they need us at a checkpoint, anyway? Total FUBAR!” someone bitches, immediately after, though Korra's ears scrubs the name of the complainer clean before the words reach her brain.

_ Once again, I can't agree more. _

As duties went, being an armored unit at a checkpoint ranked somewhere between helicopter pilot on a submarine and Toy-Boat Sailor in Nebraska levels of logic, in Korra's mind. To every side, buildings of various sizes rose from the dirt as vantage points overlooking their, comparatively, open positions. Lots of roofs for snipers or scouts to hide on, and infinitely more windows. That alone made the prefab fortifications of the checkpoint next to useless in sheltering the bulk of her four 60-ton machines.

Make matters worse, whomever was the Iraqi officer in overall control of their infantry, had the brilliant idea of doing most of the inspections  **inside** the fortifications. You know, where all the squishy things were.

“I have no idea,” TC Waters says, swigging the last gulp of her canteen.  _ Just five more bottles and we're out for the day. Damn. _

Still, it wasn't all bad.

For all the narrowed looks she got from the locals when her head pokes out of her cupola, the view from the location was somewhat stunning. Skies bluer that she'd ever thought possible at home, only comparable to a family outing in Big Bend a decade ago. Little clouds that could, come down from the northern mountains, all the rain out of them a hundred miles away.

Flowers.

No one had ever told her about the flowers before she came.

Admittedly, it wasn't the real thing. Only the tended garden of a family whose home had survived on remarkable condition, but the effect was nearly the same. Colors so deep and vibrant, drawn from the thin slice of fertile soil aside the river, they seem painted.

_ I wonder if I could get Asami some flowers from the market? She'd probably like that. Bet I could get one of these guys to do it for fifty bucks. _

Mmn, a tempting prospect which presents a thousand nagging obstacles.

Which, immediately are shoved to the side as a fresh voice cuts into the songs and idle conversation. “Valkyrie Actual, this is Valkyrie Two, how copy? Over,” Kuvira drawls in such a monotone she might have just woken up.

“Good copy, over. Send your message.”

Her right ear, almost deaf for lack of stimulation that wasn't engine related, catches a few broken words, before the friendly voice continues on in a slightly more urgent pace. “Permission to begin latrine sorties, starting with my call-sign,” the senior sergeant requests, sound of sloshing almost audible over the speaker. “Immediately.”

_ I mean… if you have to go that bad, just tell me _ , Korra thought, rolling her eyes at thinking this would be any manner of trouble. “Confirm. Permission granted.”

Time to lounge, again. Let the blah overtake her routine pans with the camera, scanning the horizon and scrub for any sign of life larger than a stray cat. A boring, if delightfully routine and stress free way to spend a deployment.

“Hey, Korra?” Mako says, reaching a fist over his shoulder to rap on a black-leather tanker boot. “You got any plans for when we get back, or can I still count on you being at the wedding?”

“Wedding?”

“He's getting married, December 1 st , remember?”

The invitation stapled to her desk, that was right. And the broken stapler to go along with it. How could she have forgotten?

Pondering to herself, Korra silently debates whether to kick the gunner for his casual dropping of rank, in order to buy extra time. “I mean, considering my schedule currently consists of 'hide from the Colonel' and 'keep you morons alive', I'll probably be free then.”

“Huh.”

Just a syllable.

“What's on your mind, Sato?”

“Nothing,” the NCO hums, sight of her little head-cock pristine in her girlfriend's mind's-eye, “I just didn't know you were getting married.”

For a moment, Mako did an impressive impression of his brother only scant minutes before. Body stiffening, head dipping, gaze going loose as thoughts race through his mind. “Huh? I guess you never met Izumi, then?” the man marvels, “Keep forgetting you're new, for some reason. Well, invitation extends to you, as well, if you want to tag along.”

Something unintelligible in one ear, a crisp snarling in the other. Interference static, that chaotic, deafening cacophony. It make her want to scream. All those hours of training in radio discipline? Useless. Just as soon as you poached the platoon.

Korra licks her lips, parched and salty with sweat. Her watch read just after 1500, but her brain felt like midnight.

Waiting…

Waiting for something to happen. Preferably, for nothing at all to happen. Eighteen hours of utter boredom like this would be a dream. No paperwork to sort through, after-action reports to file, or quartermaster requisitions of shells and shot.

If only it weren't for the chat.

This need to fill the air was so maddening, at times, when every word could be the sound of an attack dawning. Not five minutes could go by without another attempt at conversation. Someone gets it in their head that something must be said, and that they are the one who must say it.

And, being that she was next up on the list, panning across the desert for the thousandth time today not supplying any danger, it was time to muddle.

“So, I've been thinking about taking some leave, when we get back. Any suggestions?”

“The Hamptons,” her walking stereotype says, immediately, like she was waiting for the question. “I used to go there in the summer when I was growing up. Golf, boating, and the beaches were nice, when they weren't crowded. Of course, most of the places I went are probably torn down, by now.”

_ Uh, no. No way is that ever going to happen. _ “Looking for something more in budget, Sergeant, but I'll think about it. Thanks for playing.”

“Damn, there goes my suggestions of Hawaii and the moon,” Bolin curses, fingers snapping directly into the speaker so the sound carried. “Yeah, I haven't got a clue on this one, boss lady. I haven't gone anywhere besides Christmas with the folk, since enlisting.”

“Went to the Grand Canyon with Izumi, last year.”

“How was that?”

“Pretty cool. I showed you the pictures.” Mako shrugs. He was even less for venturing off than she was. Every moment not on base tended to be spent in his tiny apartment, enjoying the life of a man settling down. “I thought you hated vacations? When was the last time you left town, let alone crossed state lines?”

Sighing, Korra agrees, “Fair point.”

_ It would be nice, though _ , she thought, letting her arid mind wander into fresh fantasy,  _ Pack up a couple bags and meet Asami, somewhere. Be a couple for a few weeks, few days, even. Kiss her without looking over my shoulder, first. Walk down the street holding hands. _

A heat, entirely unrelated to the sun, touches her cheeks at that moment. Along with an upwelling of longing and stupidity.

Stupidity the fates cruelly exploit, via the sound of a satisfied voice. “Valkyrie Actual, this is Valkyrie Two,” Kuvira reports, back to her previously slothful tone, “We have completed our sorties, you are free to begin on your end, over.”

“Copy that, out.”

A hand grips the rag draped on her stiff shoulders, sodden with sweat and spilled Coke, and brings it to the Lieutenant's face. Cool and rough with grains that hand snuck in the open hatch on one of the many gusts of breeze. “Alright, then, show of hands: who needs to go and how bad?”

No one moves. Lee still keeps his eye pressed against his little sliver of the outside world, Stone leaning against his gunshield.

Even Asami give a short, “I'm good,” in refusal.

“Staff Sergeant,” Korra groans, forcing her numb legs to take the weight of her body and kit, despite the prickling sensation in her toes and calves, “you're in charge, until I get back.”

Without waiting for a reply, she was up and out, tugging wires from her headset and squeezing out the shining opening with less spare room than she'd like. Trusty carbine was waiting for her, to be gathered like the keys and wallet on her dresser. An M4 like any other, but this one was hers.

Hot metal scalds, even tan, even through her gloves.

The few feet down feel like miles on limbs that haven't supported anything in most of a day. All slides and scramble for footholds with only a single hand to grip in aid. Boots without flex and a worn down sole make the untextured slope into the most dangerous of slides.

Hit the ground with an, “Oof!” and instantly feel the eyes on her. Not ogling like the O-Club, but what Korra was sure zoo animals felt from behind the bars and glass. Curiosity, confusion, awe, and the slightest bit of revulsion. Perhaps more of that in some faces, less of it in others. Certainly, the soldiers gave her the deference of her rank, if only because their guns went 'pew-pew' and hers went 'fuck you!'. But, others shot naught but suspicion and distaste.

A man honks.

He looks fierce through the safety of his windscreen, the sleek lines of a brand-new Mercedes. Such a hurry is his that he revs once, twice, then leans into the horn.

But, with a glare and a twitch towards a trigger, he is silenced.

She knew his type. The survivors. Powerful people who had kept it so through the Ba'athists, the Americans, Democracy, and Daesh. Willing to do anything, say anything, befriend anyone, so long as they stayed right where they were on the totem pole.

_ Hah, I'm being philosophical, again… _

_ Damn this heat. _

She misses a heat of a different kind, the entirety of her trip. The warmth of a body against hers. Lips on hers.

Stretching, she remembers every stretch. Every whispered curse and word is in her ear, scent of cherries on the air, silky hair in her fingers, taste of Asami on her tongue. Blink, and she's miles away. In bed.

In bed with her.

At a movie, sneaking popcorn in the middle of the action. Distracted from this dusty checkpoint too far away from the river.

Five minutes of trance is all she gets.

_ What a lovely thing love is _ , Korra smiles, walking on the return trip.

If only life could have been like that. For something around six months, if she could just wake from it, all the stresses left to her subconscious. That would be far more wonderful than waving the man and his children by, even if they have the sweetest smiles, little hands waving right back at her.

“Aw.”

Adorable children aside, without her accidental distraction, the tanker felt a whole new prickling in her limbs.

It spreads, like a virus. To every inch of skin. A shivering sensation that ran up her spine and made every hair stand on end. Every eye on her felt menacing, every corner became a danger. The very ground underfoot was untrustworthy as Lieutenant Water, very confidently and smoothly, attempts to fight the urge to bolt for her hole.

What she ends up with is an awkward shuffle of a gate, about as subtle as a bowling-ball smashing a window in. By the last few meters, it's practically a trot to return to the safety of the turret, all pretense at stealth abandoned under open, unfriendly skies.

Scrambling up the suspension, damning the designers for the hundredth time on the terrible steps, she hears another horn. A great bellowing noise that echoes off flat ground and over idling engines. Deep and reverberant. To her ears, it sounds like the coming of hell. The monstrous roar of some apocalyptic beast come to scoop her off the earth.

All of the weariness in her is gone, within a heartbeat. She knew that sound, as well as any mortal. Knew what happened when what issued it hit home.

Out on the road, kicking up clouds of dust and diesel fumes over the desert, a tanker. Shiny and chrome, swerving wildly, as though driven by some demon of the underworld, or else a man possessed.

“Shit! Shit! SHIT!” Korra curses, hastily discarding her weapon on the frontal slope to get up the turret faster. Fingers gnaw into netting and sensors, launching the Lieutenant passed her Ma Deuce, and almost headlong down the commander's hatch. “Eyes up!” she shouts, halfway through plugging herself in, “We have incoming! Load HE and prepare to engage!”

“Copy that!”

“HE, copy!”

The breech block drops before her butt hits the chair. Out comes the flat nosed canister round, and in with the shaped-charge warhead.

She sways as the world swivels, barrel swinging to track for threats along the highway, engine roaring to life behind her ears. Her last peak of the outside world beyond her screen is off a frantic Iraqi soldier waving through every car, bus, and truck in the path, while his fellows split evenly in their running for the hills and the barricades.

Asami's voice, suddenly sharp as a hovering knife, asks a one-word question: “Orders?!”

_ Think… _

_ Think… _

_ Don't think! Act! _

“Driver, put us in reverse! We go back five meters, then sixty degrees right, block the entrance! Bolin, guide her!” the platoon lead order, not waiting for replies from either party. What was important was keeping the truck outside.  **They** might survive a glancing blow, but the thin skinned Humvees and civvie vehicles would serve as little more than extra shrapnel for the blast. “Valkyrie 4!”

The Irishman interrupts, one step ahead of his CO, “Eyes on, Ma'am! Ready to fire!”

“Hold! Wait for my signal!”

He fills her screen, now, in the middle of her crosshairs. They reverse away, but doom still closes at nearly freeway speed, tires digging into the shoulder and pulling the great boar against the control of the driver.

Korra's hand jerks to the side, and she fires. A short burst across the bow.

_ Ba-ba-bam! _

One hot casing tings off her helmet, her shoulder, gone. The tracer flies true and straight, with a lazy arc that has the man's hands doubling hard into the desert. Away from flying lead and death.

_ Away? _

250 meters.

“We need to fire, now!” Mako barks in her ear.

“ _ We've got him! Ma'am, let's have it! _ ” Valkyrie 4 shouts, almost frantic in the way his accent bites into every word.

200 meters.

Farther from the road, now, with no sign of cutting back. Small shrubs and mots of scrub grass are swallowed up by the cab, adding texture to the cloud of sand and small stones kicked up by the churning wheels. But, slower, ever slower.

150 meters.

_ Please, don't let me regret this. _ “Hold fire! Everyone keep your heads down!”

No sooner had she said this, did the door come flying open on the tanker, with the tubby, middle-aged driver hurling himself out to the mercy of physics and fate. He, in his entirety, vanishes into the desert, his vehicle lurching away from the road even further, smashing headlong into a drainage ditch with a thunderous smash.

Metal crumples from the impact. Bits of glass and paneling go flying. She holds her breath and waits for the boom. There was supposed to be a boom.

It never comes.

Wind slowly blows the dust column away. Heads peak from foxholes, bunkers, and tanks.

100 meters.

Just short of them, by the slimmest of margins, the threat has been put to rest. Raising herself up, the Lieutenant gazes upon the wreck with a heart that hammers against her ribs. She feels lightheaded, watching gallons of oil or gasoline pour from a dozen buckles, tears, and burst seems.

“This is Valkyrie Actual, to all elements, report in.”

They do, but Korra isn't listening. Slumped against the frame, lungs gasp for air she hadn't realized was missing, until now.  _ Fuck. Holy fuck, what was I thinking? _

“Good call.”

It's the joker, smiling broad at her from his own position.

“Thanks,” she says, gathering a few more breaths before making an effort at composure. “Corporal, get on the horn and tell command what just happened. I'll handle things on our end.” A shift in the breeze brings forth the smell of highly flammable petrochemicals to the nose. “And see about getting the Fire Department out here. Last thing I need is fire damage coming out of my pay.”

The man smiles a little wider and flashes a thumbs up, submerging just as fast as he'd appeared. “Already on it.”

Whiles she watches, flames appear, rapidly spreading to consume the entire vehicle. Smoke of billowing black soon towers into the sky. Those Iraqis, much braver than her, who had ventured close to gather the prone form of the former pilot, are set to flight by the raging inferno.

_ Asami. _

She hasn't spoken, made a single peep, since sending the foursome into motion.

“How're you holding up, Sato? Lee?” Korra asks, tacking on the gunner's name as an afterthought.

Mako mutters something about being tired under his breath, only barely passing into the mic, while the driver just makes a sort of shuddering moan. A weak, miserable thing that felt more pitiful than a cat caught out in the rain after being kicked.

_ I want to hug her. How does one word hugs? _

“So, the Hamptons, huh? What was that like, again?”

_ Nailed it, Waters. _

_ Fucking nailed it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. a scrape with danger, everyone none the worse for it. Physically, at the very least. Can't say anything about their mental state. Yet. We shall see about that in the coming weeks. Any opinions or helpful hints would be appreciated, as always. I love hearing from you all, and it always brings a smile to may face.


	16. Empty Miles, Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shooting war begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too graphic, but be warned, there is a good deal violence. it is war, after all.

_I'm haunted by the ghost of cherry lips…_

Korra can still taste them on her own, after the night before. A hidden bunk and an hour alone, somewhere even Colonels wouldn't dare intrude. Hidden, but not really, the worst secret in the Army. The little alcove behind the boxes, in the darkest warehouse of the depots.

_“I've been thinking,”_ the lips had said, somewhere along her breastbone, or maybe it had been around her navel, _“My enlistment is up in a few months...”_

Sand buffets the memory, grinding it away, despite the efforts on her part to keep it fresh and in the fore. To think clear, without haze of lust or knee jerk yearning, putting logic to work against that which was utterly illogical. Every part of the still weak-kneed woman wished that she could be objective with Asami Sato, for once in either of their lives, but it wasn't working.

Grains of some prehistoric cliff face or crustacean ping from her polarized goggles. Much the bandana over the rest of her face. Every inch of skin was covered, if it possibly could be. While the spring sun in Mosul had been unpleasant, time had marched ever on, and summer was now firmly upon the 2-58 and Co. Paler members of the Battalion had resorted to drastic measures to fight the menacing rays, and most were failing.

Poor Irish was redder than sin, already, with Captain Baker no better than he in that regard.

_Speaking of, it's about time for him to-_ " **Valkyrie Actual, this is Crossroads** ,” the voice of her Company CO hums in her ear, with that slight tremble he got every time he sat in the saddle, “ **Valkyrie Actual, come in, please.** ”

“This is Valkyrie, clear copy. Send your message.” _You nervous old man._

With a smile, the Lieutenant looks left across the shallow arrowhead formation to the far wing. Somewhere there, beyond the clouds of choking exhaust, drifting sand, and gaggle of battle-taxis was Bravo's CO. Back from the spearhead a tad, no doubt, but still roaring along with the rest. Although, she suspects he is bunched up inside the cupola with a map across his lap, rather than exposing any fleshy bits to open air.

After a moment of static, he's back on the wire, with the Lieutenant already gesturing for her loader to duck back inside, “ **Roger, Valkyrie, you're drifting out of formation. Correct to bearing Two-Eight-Zero, and shore it up, over.** ”

“Copy that. Will do.”

But Asami was already on the ball. One track slows, digging deep into the loose sand, with the other surging. Smoother than any car, sixty tons bowls down a clump of dried grass and comes alongside the leading Bradley. A dinky little bathtub when compared to her glorious machine, but with the benefits of a proper crew cooling system.

The two commander's smile across at each other. Or, well, give a friendly thumbs up. Neither was fool enough to be bare faced in the brewing sandstorm.

“Should be about ten miles until we're in the mission area, I think,” Mako relays, voice muffled by his mouthful of baked beans. A gift from home, courtesy of a loving fiancé and the Heinz Company. “Might want to turn in, just in case, boss.”

_God, you worry more than she does._ “Noted, Staff Sergeant. I'll be fine, so long as we miss all the bumps.”

And any mines along the way.

Perfect terrain for it. Loose sand, over harder pack. Some kind of old riverbed, maybe. Or a plateau long consumed by the desert winds and scorching sun. Already, she'd seen countless snakes and lizards dart from the tan waste at the last moment, vanishing an instant later.

_Anything could be down there. Or anyone…_

“ _I've been thinking,_ ” hot breath fills Korra's nose. Sweet with mint toothpaste, blocking out the scent of rust and dry-rot crates. “ _...I wanted to know what you thought? About… us? What comes next._ ”

Why did she have to ask that question, then? It wasn't fair to test the waters when they had less than an hour to themselves. And, though brushed off at the time for more immediate concerns, it had lingered with the officer ever since, rising up at the most inopportune moments. Like now, as she sent course corrections down the pipe to the rest of her platoon.

As the task force crests a low rise, 2nd Platoon found itself strung out and fractured. Seemingly random gaps had opened up, with each Abrams further afield than the last. Bastet was only distinguishable by the big blue banner Sfc. Steel had zip-tied to her flank for that exact purpose.

Visibility was zero.

Only a wall of sand, billowing like a storm cloud from the parched earth. In a moment, they were swallowed whole.

Down.

Hydraulics hum as the stabilizer kicks in. Breech-block rising violently, before plunging down with enough force to claim an errant limb. Enough to have even veteran tankers shying to the edges, fingers curling back for each millimeter of clearance.

“Fucking sand!” Bolin curses, yanking home his hatch a moment after her own, “I'm warning you, now. My rooftop ain't gonna do anything. Got a pound of the stuff in the action.”

Korra sighs. “Just do your best. Driver, ahead slow.”

That's all any of them could do.

First, late rains, driven down from the mountains in harder sheets than any Yankee had ever seen in country, and now harsh westerly winds had sapped every ounce of patience. Spare parts were plentiful, but time wasn't. It was move west, or nothing, with the later not being an option. That meant shoddy repairs that busted at the next bump. Track pads that were a week passed useful on her Raava, with the Irishman ripping up anything paved he crossed.

Fits of apoplectic rage were common, these days. Thrown tools when bolts broke, violent arguments over the smallest slights, and even a punch or two whiffed by an ear. Discipline was slipping, and motivation already in the toilet.

They were fighting a war, somewhere wars weren't meant to be fought, against an enemy that refused to fight.

Each day, firing could be heard on either side of the Regiment, with militia scouts and Iraqi Army patrols duking it out in life-or-death skirmishes over the next hill, or in the next valley. Always out of sight, but very much in mind. Always vanishing the moment a turbine roars to life, with Daesh fleeing before the prospect of competent armored forces.

Everyone was tense as a clockspring.

Asami was angry that she had no face to her fears; Mako, that they hadn't the guts to come to blows. Renewed firebrand Kuvira raged at pot-shotting snipers, with Colonel Beifong berating every local officer on their cowardice and incompetence.

Although, she did still save enough for venom for her own subordinates, to be fair.

Rumor even had it that someone from Charlie had gone Sand-mad. Just wandering out into the desert, one morning, through the pickets, with no one seeing him since. Others had it that he'd taken a tumble off a cliff, and the Colonel was keeping it hush-hush for morale, so who new where the truth ended and lies began.

“Everyone, keep your head on a swivel,” TC Waters orders, flicking her display to the eerie green and white color-scheme of infrared. Even the alternate view only gains a few fuzzy of sight into the swirling mass of grains. “Eyes out for movement.”

Sweet Asami, with lips like fire, grumbles in her sleep-deprived voice, “It's all moving, Ma'am. I'm getting land-sick just looking at it.”

“Yeah, Boss,” Bolin agrees, eying out his cupola, “I could cut this shit with my knife, if I wanted.”

“Think of it this way: we might run the bad-guys over before they see us,” the gunner joins in, giving the turret a little waggle for wider POV with his more finely tuned sight. It makes a belly of lukewarm MRE and tepid water do back flips like little else can, but it was better than a face full of molten copper. “Or we see them.”

_I wouldn't mind that, to be honest. An entire deployment without a trip to the chop-shop. Fuck knows, I have enough problems without getting shot at._ The shrapnel in her gut gave a little tug. _I doubt_ **_she'd_ ** _see it that way, though._

Korra sighs, panning through the gritting world for a hint of heat.

Us…

She wants an 'Us', after all this. But, at what cost? What was the price for happiness with her little minx?

Asami’s enlistment?

A Lieutenant's bars?

The prospect of ever reaching Captain?

Waters watches the desert, and it seems to stare back. To judge. Memories of waving her father off come swirling back with a part in the storm, of waiting with fingers crossed for his safe return. Mornings in an empty house, a mother that clung to every letter like a lifeline.

_Could I do that to_ **_her_** _? Would I be able to let her do it to_ **_me_** _?_

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Nothing,” the officer says, with so many things she wants to tell the voice in her ear. More than she can count. “Just… wondering when the wind's gonna stop.”

In her other ear, a cacophony of Abrams commanders and Bradley cabbies. Lost, lagging behind, or barking at near collisions with errant neighbors. The sound of so many voices was soothing, in a way. Should she let her eyes drift closed, it might be back at the practice range, with Colonel Beifong her greatest enemy.

_Oh, the things we'll long for…_

_The silly little things…_

Up ahead, a break in the sand squall. Sunbeams reach down like the hands of angels, plucking them from the hell of the defilade. Above, the sky is clear, and the sun vengeful. In a blink the fuzzy screen is a blinding white.

“Oh. My. God,” someone breathes into the comm, so quite Korra can't tell who.

A button press later, however, and she understands the reaction, perfectly. Laid out in the next dip of terrain is a spiderweb of trenches and dugouts. Vehicles, large and small, are scattered about like toys abandoned by some childish giant. Amid them, scurrying people, dressed in an odd assortment of fatigues, western clothing, and traditional colorful Arab garb.

They made a curious sight, the entire lot. Surprised to see an entire armored formation come over the hill. Frankly, the apparent ambushers were just as stunned.

Cutting through the improbability, a thought. _He who fires first, wins._

“Contact front! All callsigns, clear tube and load HE!” Korra shouts into her mic, just as the Captain and Colonel both order something similar. One hand snaps to the CROWS control, the other seeking a single target among the many. “Driver, keep us moving!”

In her gunner's initiative, the world becomes a thunderous roar, joining the many blasting cannon along the low crest. The shell doesn't have time to arc. Point blank range, three-hundred meters, or so. An object around the diameter of a grapefruit smashes the thin hide of a BMP, opening it up like a tuna can. Lethal shrapnel tears ground and flesh, alike, in a thousand mini-geysers of red and brown.

XO Steel, in a menacing monotone, scolds the platoon leader's fire discipline, “Hold for volley. Target engaged.”

The rest of the Abrams let fly as Raava charges down the hill. Those that hadn't fallen to temptation bombarded Daesh with a drumbeat of fire and steel in less than five seconds. Moments later, chaingun fire cuts the sky. Those IFV's that had followed on, ignorant of what lay ahead, now took a gruesome toll by Bushmaster and coax.

“Target destroyed.” Valkyrie-Two.

“Good hit, lads!” Four.

“Enemy neutralized.” Three.

All of them had hit home, with not a stone thrown their way. But that could change. Aggression, surprise, and fear were on their side, but who knew for how long? “Keep up the pressure! Full speed and hit 'em hard! Flank right at the bottom of the hill, three-five-zero to two-nine-zero, at my order!”

No sooner had the words left her mouth, did a first threat appear. One brave soul among the fleeing or unprepared. He stood, wreathed in flames and carnage, his sleeve in bloody tatters. In his hands, a long tube with a bulbous nose. The stuff of tanker's nightmares. Korra could swear he was looking right at her, finger hovering on the trigger.

Only, her finger was faster.

She can't feel the recoil on her fingertips, not really. But the sensation still pulses in her forearm. Hot death come from her hand, across the broken aftermath of the initial barrage.

One line of light, then another fly over the extremist's shoulder, but the third catches him square.

Life leaves him as he falls back onto the fire, almost peacefully.

Another notch for Lieutenant Waters' belt.

A fresh nightmare for Korra.

“Valkyrie Actual, this is Minos Actual. Request covering fire for dismount,” the taxi commander that had been her duckling states from the crest. “Estimate one-mike offload, then we'll be out of your hair, over.”

A minute. _I can do that._ “Clear copy,” she says to him, before flicking off his channel to broadcast directly into Baker's already overloaded ear. “Crossroads, Valkyrie is performing a sweep around the enemy formation. Bearing due north to two-nine-zero. We have infantry offloading on our six, request your orders?”

“ **Crossroads copies** ,” her captain acknowledges, sounding as overwhelmed as she felt. “ **You are cleared to engage at will. Good hunting, out.** ”

_Good hunting._

With sights laid on a hasty bunker of sandbags, the officer sends more machine-gun fire into the fray, letting Asami's course and corrections sweep the fire across the encampment. “You catch that, Bo?”

“Yes, Ma'am!”

“Pass it on.”

“Yes, Ma'am!”

Again, as the turret swivels to keep enemy under the main gun, there is a sensation of near nauseating vertigo. Momentum sideways, head the other, and no Mark 1 eyeball on the horizon makes Korra's head swim for a moment.

Duty draws her back, in the form of a line of technicals and SUVs. “Target, vehicles in the open, two-six-three, range four-hundred. One round, HE!”

Mako pans and finds his mark. “Shot out!”

One truck just ceases to exist. No frame, no wreckage, just a hole in the ground where it once sat. The one behind lifts a good meter off the ground at the front axle, hood and windshield evaporating under forces no sane designer could expect, with the neighbor to Korra's right becoming the metallic equivalent of Swiss cheese.

Three more impacts follow, her platoon synced to the leader's fire.

What was once a column of impromptu motorized fighting vehicles, is now a burning ruin, along with any who either sheltered or manned positions in their midst. It's a grim sight. As is the image of men limping of crawling in every direction.

Smoke swallows all. Black and thick, along with deliberate white clouds. Within seconds, the battlefield is lost to her.

No thought behind the action, she rises up, once more. Korra's head breaks the cupola just as soon as her hatch is out of the way. And the world, such sounds and sensations greet her ears that no imitation could replicate. From the roar of the turbine, the rush of hot air, and the stench of mingled cordite, blazing gasoline, and the unforgettable waft of charred flesh.

“A-driver, cut speed and keep us close to them. If I sneeze, I want them to get a cold.”

“On it,” her beloved replies, maneuvering the hulking beast with all the nimbleness of her black Ford. Every bump and dip was cushioned by last second swerves. This war zone, to her, was as smooth a track as an Interstate highway. “I'll keep you in spitting distance.”

Fire, load.

Fire, load.

It's like clockwork.

From her mostly safe position, Lieutenant Waters spots targets in the chaos. She has to think of them as such. Targets. Cutouts. Inanimate things, not flesh and blood like herself.

Here and there, a handful stand their ground in a hopeless defense. Bullets hum around with a sound not unlike angry, deadly hornets. Once or twice, a sharp snap sends the woman down into the turret with a hammering hear. When she blinks, a line of heat on her skin. Not the pleasant fire of her woman's fingers, but a scalding, numbing heat.

Gone, in an instant. Just as soon as her eyes open.

Little fingers rake the sand into puffs of brown. From her Ma Deuce and the smaller internal mount, not to mention those of her platoon, company, and the squads of infantry charging down the slope under the cover of thundering guns. Rockets shriek up from foxholes and slit trenches, met with a deluge of return fire which boils the very ground around the insurgents into a froth. Others throw up their hands, fight kicked out of them before it had even begun, and a few are cut down by those further into the camp, or by over-enthused American gunners.

A voice curses in her ear, followed by a muffled explosion. “Fuck! Fucking shoot him, you jackass!” the XO barks, apparently having struck her receiver while tumbling down the hatch. “You are not getting me killed! FIRE!!!”

A would be grenadier leaves this world in a flash, as had many others.

It seems to go on forever. An endless rattling, thudding, and roaring, punctuated by the smashing of shells and rending of metal. Surely, this is what Armageddon will sound like.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, silence…

Not tapering, not gradually, but with the immediacy of someone hitting the 'mute' button on a film.

“ **Cease fire on the line. I repeat: Cease Fire!** ” Colonel Beifong snaps like a whip, though her words are unnecessary. “ **All units, hold position. I want sit-reps in five.** ”

And Korra, for once in her life, is glad to hear the hated woman's voice. So soft over the hammering of a seizing heart. Deep breaths of caustic, befouled air sooth its rhythm. Thought comes back, emotion swift to follow. Soon enough, all turn to those that matter.

Calmly, far more calmly than she expects, the routine kicks in. “Everyone, sound off. Casualties and ammunition.”

“One, okay. Down one belt of seven-six-two.” _Mako_.

“Two, okay.” _Bolin_. “Six rounds, HE, expended. Not a scratch on me.”

One beat, two, three. Seconds that drag on like eternity. “Three, okay. Got some shrapnel or something in my vision blocks. So, I can see less than nothing, now,” Sato says, with a little shake of adrenaline in her tone. Sucking inhales through her mouth, out with a chatter. “Should I power us down, or keep going, Ma'am?”

_You never have to ask me that when we're… BAD! Bad Korra!_ “Cycle down, Sergeant. I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

“All good on my end, in case you're wondering,” the mother interjects. Looking over her shoulder, the officer sees her friend back in the saddle, sans helmet and with fresh bandages around her scalp. One hand hovers on the rim, the other pulling a shattered carbine close for inspection. “I'm fine, boss lady,” she says, fixing a stubborn stare across the gap, “You can stop looking at me like that.”

She laughs, own rifle coming into a steady grip. “I'm more worried about whatever hit you.”

“Aye, I pity the poor bastard that takes a shot at you, Sarge,” the Irishman guffaws, mirthful through the destruction and death. “Seems he's got some friends, though.”

By twos and threes, they come. Walking wounded and the shell-shocked. Bloodied, beaten, and broken men. Some clutch to Kalashnikovs like life buoys, others wielding scraps of canvass or bed cloth, anything remotely white.

Fewer than she expects, but also a great deal more.

They see her, and more than a few take pause, hovering back around the remains of a shredded tent. Whether it be her sex, or simply the suddenness arrival, there appears to be some debate among them on what to do, now. Some might have felt a slight surge of satisfaction at that, but the veteran had seen such looks before, knew the knife edge they teeter on.

“Arfae yudik!”

_Hands up. Go on._

Spontaneously, one-by-one, the most depressing human wave in history. Trembling hands reach for the sky, save a few holding wounds closed or fellows aloft.

“What’s going on out there? I can’t see,” Asami complains, with a clearly growing level of stir-crazy. There was a creaking of an under greased latch, and a hefting of hinges. “You’d better not be doing anything brave up there!”

Korra smiles, wide, despite the horror, and falls back into her chair. “Stand down, Sergeant.”

“Are we surrendering to them, or are they surrendering to us?” the elder sibling asks, head back and eyes closed. In his mouth, a limply chewed wad of gum, to go with the dozens of wrappers one glued to the gun-breech and now scattered on every flat surface. “I haven’t read the regs in a while, so I don’t know how this is supposed to go. Are there turkey sandwiches involved?”

“With mustard and extra cheese. And a big bowl of tomato soup,” the younger fantasizes, taking Korra’s place on overwatch.

On the line, the little laugh she dreams of. “Are you two kidding? I want a big steak.”

She was worth it, Lieutenant Waters realizes, letting her head rest as she reports up the chain of command, with a head filling with pleasant memories to do battle with the recent. Well worth leaving the Army for. They were already halfway there, after all.

_One day, I’m going to marry that woman. On, like, a beach at sunset, or some romantic crap like that. She’d love it._

But first, a quick nap.

Dreams of ruby lips and lines of fire. And another stolen moment to say everything she should have already. _I fucking_ **_love_ ** _you, Asami Sato._

_I love her so much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late. I wish I had an excuse for it being so, but I was simply unhappy with things and kept tweaking. Hope you enjoyed, as always. If so, a comment always goes a long way towards motivating me for the next go at things.


	17. The Taste of Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know, they really should be working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's smut! More mild than the earlier stuff, but I needed a break from the serious stuff. Hope you like it. And the relationship talk that comes after.

Home was now an abandoned village on the border. They'd arrived a few days before, having met sporadic pockets of resistance on the way. Brief and bloody battles. Poorly laid minefields, as well, along with the occasional IED. Standard fare, for the most part. Casualties low, morale middling, a steady stream of refugees and damaged vehicles in their wake.

Now, the quiet time.

Dig in like ticks and hold for orders. Stand by to stand by, as it were.

With relative peace came an improvement to the meals, people's attitudes, and a vastly improved sedentary lifestyle. Hard clay walls over almost everyone's head, even if sleeping quarters were more cramped than sardine cans. Time to fix that which the devil of sand had broken. Mail, phone service, fresh supplies were all in abundance. Cans of peaches and bars of chocolate stolen from the mess tent were hot commodities on the grey market. As were rumors of a chance at furlough and leave.

And the news that six-months was almost sure to become nine. Scuttlebutt differed on how hard the Colonel was arguing for or against the extension. Korra's sources in the E-4 Mafia had it on good faith Beifong was firmly in the 'anti' camp, however.

Not that it made the junior officer's workload any lighter. Sheer weight of paper threatened to snap her impromptu desk in half. Not that it was much more than some mysteriously appropriated plywood glued to the top of a pair of filing cabinets. Because, well, that was  **exactly** what it was.

“Got another stack for you when you're done with that,” Legs hums from her own place, closer to the door, where she acted as both receptionist and secretary.

_ Fuck my life _ , Lieutenant Waters inwardly curses, head falling to her hands.

On the road, she'd had no time for all the gritty details, nor those the Captain shirked. But, the bullshit machine of Army bureaucracy hadn't forgotten it's required sacrifice. A detailed counting of and accounting for every rivet, screw, and screwball in the service, by way of blistered fingers and sixteen-hour days hunched under a meager desk lamp. Plus the interest. Forms explaining why the other forms were late.

All in triplicate, of course.

It made one wonder why the entire thing didn't just crumble under its own weight, sometimes. Entropy, probably. Or inertia.

Fuck physics.

Fuck thinking.

_ Fuck my life. _

“I need some coffee...”

Papers shuffle under examining emeralds, “We're out of coffee, Ma'am. You signed the requisition for more three hours ago. And the one for a french-press an hour before that. And, before you ask, we don't have any tea, either.”

“God damnit,” she allows herself to grumble. Current company would likely enjoy it. “How can an entire battalion be out of caffeine? It's not possible. I refuse to accept it!”

“You refuse to accept a lot of things,” Asami smirks, “At least at first.”

As very non-regulation salutes were exchanged between them, Korra leaned back with a little smile on her lips. Perhaps the greatest joy of being in one place for a few days was getting to assign the duty rosters, company-wide. Vengeance on the petty grudges one way, smacking those who had actually angered her on the nose. Making excuses to keep a particularly mouthy Sergeant under her eye at all times, and keep others at arm's distance a few hours a day.

Not that they did much with it. Mostly made chat to fill the air, complained outside the usual channels, avoided talk of home and life after like the plague.

“Fuck you, babe.”

“Mmmn, yes, please,” the raven-haired beauty requests with a sigh. Her head falls back, cap loose over her tight bun. So wrong for her wild strands to be so confined. Not wild and free for fingers, her fingers, to run through and tug. “I miss the depot.”

A snort escapes, in spite of her will, and Korra's eyes roll. “Only  **you** could miss a dusty old cot in a firetrap warehouse.”

“S'not what I miss, Blue. And the acoustics were great.”

Now a blush. To the memory of her voice, their voices, her lover's voice, all bouncing from crates and double-thick tin walls. An echoing reverberation of every sigh and moan and whispered curse. Somehow, never escaping. Or, at least, no one had ever mentioned them doing so. “Yeah. Yeah, it really did.”

“We should have a couple hours to ourselves, you know,” Asami said, brushing her nose and digging back into the pile.

“You're joking. Here? Really?”

Shrug, eyes darting the officer's way, a mild hunger in them. “Sgt. Steel's heading the repair detail, that's most of us. Mako still has the shakes from that well water he drank, and Irish's bunch are tending the still-”

“He has a  **still** ?”  _ And he didn't tell me? _ “What about Bolin?”

“Oh, he's still chasing that Times correspondent around,” the NCO hums, smiling to herself, “What was her name, again? Amethyst? Jade?”

A crumpled ball of paper bounces off her sweaty brow, the smile dying to a thin scowl. “It's Opal, and you know it,” one girlfriend scolds the other, scrawling a signature across an after-action report. “And knock it off.”

“Spoilsport.”

The sound of scribbling returns. Pen meets paper, and the worth of her service, likely all which anyone would ever record, is left in tightly crammed lines of black ink. She drinks the last remains of lukewarm powdered orange juice, enjoying the tang and added sugar sweetness. Distantly, she hears the sound of chair legs scraping. Asami rising to stretch her long, long legs, or make a dash for the latrine.

Something taps her shoulder, to be ignored, at first. The second jab is harder, though, drawing her eye up from the hated stack.

_ Huh? Boobs… _

Cradled in a nondescript sports-bra, no less. And framed in Army green.

Not a bad look, if an unexpected sight to see. Just as so as the thumb bringing her chin up into a tender kiss. Soft and safe. Pure bliss that melts the mind. A hand fists her overshirt, yanking her up at the other woman's will. Her own meld into the curve of that porcelain neck, yearning to dispel that cursed bun.

Pulling and pushing in the general direction of a pair of bunks crammed in a corner. More by necessity than choice, even if it was a comfort.

“We  **really** shouldn't be doing this,” the officer breathed, popping buttons as lips work on her jawline. Not that this fact was slowing her any. Those last few miles had been miserably grueling ones. It would be nice to unwind. “Is the door locked, at least?”

“Think so.”

Fingers peel her like an orange. One-by-one, shirts are off, thrown to the sand-strewn boards. Boots go, end up underfoot, and send them stumbling to the wall. For her to hold them there, kiss her woman deep, and tear tattered khaki pants from those legs that went for days. Warm, soft legs. Korra cradles them, lifts Asami off her feet, her lover's hands keeping them just as close.

And she moans, low and sweet. “Well, that was a quick about face,” she whispers, a hand sliding passed pant-hem and to the flesh beyond. “Then again, you always were easy.”

“You talk too much.”

No more talking, only kisses. Hot and heavy. Nearly frantic in their desperation to get that little bit closer to each other. The hand on her ass squeezes, the other holding deftly to her neck. It's an arrangement that has become almost routine. Benign in its erotic closeness, and amazingly practical for certain, ahem, things.

From the wall to the desk, just study enough to hold Asami's weight on the edge. That is, once her arms can be wrestled off and subdued by muttered urging. So that lips can wander south, attention soft and teasing above the neckline.

She shivers as Korra's tongue traces her pulse. Salty sweat tempts the officer, there. To nibble and suck sensitive skin. Leave marks as she's done before.

_ I can't… _

_ Have to wait… _

There were other places for such things. Far more satisfying and intimate.

All the motivation is there to rush straight for such a conclusion. Cut out all the little formalities, seize the objective with speed and vigor, win swift victory on the battlefield which is lovemaking between them. And, Lieutenant Waters had to admit, there would be a good deal of satisfaction in establishing dominance early. Payback for all the increasing innuendo over the comms since the battle in the dunes.

But, where was the fun in that? Much more entertaining to watch her struggle keeping quiet. Even if failure provides a whole host of other, terrifying challenges.

Teeth graze pale breasts, leaving little lines that fade before her eyes, and hands release them from their confining prison. Not all the way off, too lazy for that, just up enough to get at the little buds within.

Oh, how she curses.

The vile obscenities of Sgt. Sato's mouth could make the gruffest dockman blush. No real change there, save a marked decrease in volume. Every moan and sigh and begging whisper has a hushed urgency to it. Emphasis on 'hushed'. An attitude most alien until these horrid months of hell. Along with an almost sixth-sense for approaching footsteps.

With none of those on the horizon, she took her time. Makes sure that the eyes looking down at her are half-rage before grey cotton underwear get even a hint of attention. Dampening with want, the thin fabric is all that separates her working fingertips from Asami's hot sex.

Hands pull harshly on the officer's hair. The teasing hold on a diamond nipple is broken.

“When I said we had a couple hours, I didn't mean you could use both,” her woman breathes in a needy growl, “Fuck me, you damn tease!”

Smiling lips kiss that bubbling frustration. It tastes just like the first one they ever shared, crammed in the backseat of her mustang. Only now, with an aged flavor that was all the more savory with experience and comparisons to make.

Moans start in earnest when her southern expedition gathers steam. Quiet, whimpering things into her suntanned shoulder, muffled by biting hard on her own fingers. More than a month of tension is in each of them. Bottled up from nights in dusty foxholes and the driver's chair. All those days of filthy suffering, breath hot on the other's back, looking down at a sleeping form when focus should be out on the murky horizon.

Korra's felt it, too.

And other things. Words that had to be said, before the end. Just in case. Insurance for the worst-case scenario.

“Asami...”

“W-what?”

She's not there yet, but getting to it fast. In this state she might not even hear, or want to hear what was coming. Just nod to everything in that single-minded way she got. Bite the bullet, suffer the chatter, so long as the ends end up in her favor.

So being, Korra Waters says, with barely a tremor, “I love you.”

“Haha,” the party girl laughs, body tensing as the hand teasing her slips under the thin veil that had muted the sensation to her fraying nerves, “I win! You said it.”

_ A game? _

Of course it was a game, for her. Everything was a game with Asami Sato.

Too bad for her, she was losing this round to the fingers working between her legs, the lips on her collar and neck. Easy to tell with all their experience with one another. Sweet nights in the most tender embraces imaginable. Piles of sheets and comforters all about, on her bed, couch, and once on the kitchen table. This place was not tender, it's wasn't sweet, but bitter and foul. Yet, Asami Sato's kisses still taste like the sweetest cherries.

Breaths come to her in little huffs and gasps, and she speaks in a euphoric voice, “Wanted to tell you- **gasp** -so long. But, you were really cute when-”

The Sergeant comes undone. So tight are they pulled together that they weight of them nearly buckles the board that hold them. In this embrace, Korra is held, and she enjoys every blessed moment of it. Closing her eyes, listening to the sweet coos of her lover's orgasm, the mind was almost fooled that they were somewhere else.

But, when she feels her pants being muddled with, it's all too clear. All the extra bits and bobs that go into the simple act. Like the damn things were designed by committee. Specifically one which was determined to keep the women of this Army celibate whilst under arms.

And, probably the men, as well.

“Love you, too,” the mostly undressed driver says, “I love you, too, Korra.”

At some point, though which escapes her in the mess of kisses and fondling, Lieutenant Waters catches a sudden case of toplessness. Bare above the waist but for what the good Lord gave her, she lays upon the hidden cots. Hot under the warmth of a sweaty body, but still shivering like it was the depths of winter.

_ She loves me… _

_ Thank god, she loves me… _

_ That makes this a lot easier, then. _ “I'll do it,” she groans, distracted by how someone was so rudely, so wonderfully, letting their hands wander in her pants.

“Do what?”

From the way her green eyes flick, it's obvious that the NCO's interest is piqued. Along with a dose of impatient irritation to go with the internal tick of valuable seconds in her head. Speedy, focused circles around Korra's clit subside to a more unfocused display of erotic affection, before stilling entirely as they look deep into the other.

“I'll take the hit,” Korra says plainly, with a little shrug. She wishes her smile could be firmer than it is. Putting on fronts was even less her thing than inspiring speeches, though. “Resign my commission when we get back. Take you on that vacation you've been on about.”

Up her lover sits, straddling Lieutenant Waters hips. Hands hold her by the curves. Strong hands. Stronger than she'd taken them for, in the beginning. Calloused and rough on her skin. Lips work without a sound, and her face screws up in utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?” Asami asks, long strands of curly, black silk falling around her pretty face like a shroud. “Resign? Are you sick, or something? Did you drink some of that well water?”

She laughs, brushing off the palm that rushes to her forehead. “I'm fine.”

“Clearly not. The day you stop wearing patterned green without a fight is the same one hell freezes over,” her girlfriend scoffs, head shaking, “What brought this on?”

“I've been thinking-”

“You know what the doctors told you about doing that without my supervision.”

“I've been thinking,” Korra repeats, ignoring the joke and plowing ahead while momentum was in her favor, “My chances at a promotion are FUBAR with the Iron Lady in charge. She'll find some little thing to keep me where I am, no matter what. And, word'll get out about us, sooner or later-”

A hand covers her mouth, muffling the rest. “You stupid, noble, beautiful idiot,” the driver laughs, a tiny bit teary, by the look of it. “Any more talk from you about resigning before you're  **at least** a full-bird Colonel, and I'm going to kick your ass so bad.”

“As if you could.”

That's what she was trying to say. But, between the palm over her lips and the fingers back between her legs, it all comes out as nonsense.

Not that she minds. Too busy melting into the touch. Letting go, for a while. Enjoying every moment as she's lectured in the background. Something about 'duty', she thinks. Heard, but also not heard. In one ear and out the other, far more important things to worry about. So much so that she dare not speak when her muzzle goes away, returning to the chest that heaves in time to every thrust into her quivering core.

“And  **I'm** the loud one,” Asami tuts under a curse, “Shut up, or we're going to get caught.”

“I-I thought you said-”

“I might have exaggerated about how long we had, a little bit,” the minx admits, hitting just the right spot as her fingers curl. A pace unlike herself. Swift and unsubtle. Not even the slightest hint of her coy, teasing tendencies. Fluid and skilled, but with the knowledge that time was not a luxury in great supply.

For her part, Korra's isn't trying to last. Mental sledges are take to every instinct to hold out, stand strong. A 'make her work for it' attitude that has left her breathless and boneless, more than once.

Now, she relishes her fast approaching orgasm, the platoon lead feeling the carefully built tension inside her body break like a wave of relief. Blood meets her tongue, teeth having sunk a little too far into her lip in an effort to stay quiet. Copper and salt mingle with a fresh kiss, brief as a peck on the cheek, and sweet as jam. Sweet as the smile on the woman she loves face, the gleam of satisfaction in her eye.

Not missing a beat, however, the Sergeant starts fixing her clothes with a very business-like efficiency. Bra, buttons, and briefs all stowed away in short order. “Not bad for a quickie. Still need to work on your bedroom etiquette, though. All that heavy stuff needs to be checked at the door.”

“Up,” the Lieutenant orders, lightly tapping a thigh and reaching for her tee.

Legs swing over the side, arms slither into holes, and Korra finds herself somehow more tense than when they'd started. “Asami-”

“Oh, don't start with me, again,” her girlfriend insists, sighing with her amusement. Eyes meet, roll in turn, then stare up at the beige ceiling. “You are maddening, sometimes, you know that? And I'm talking about  **you** you, not  **my** you, now.”

Snort. “And  **you're** not making any sense. Again.”

“My you is the one that hooked up with me at a crappy block party in the back of an old sports car,” the woman explains, drawing back the blue to her sunburned face and fond, thoughtful smile, “She likes comedies, Saturday-morning cartoons, and waffles instead of pancakes. Kind of a neat freak, but only when I'm around. Hates the TV news with a burning passion, refuses to listen to music on the radio. Gayest woman in the world, and the sweetest, with a rockin' bod, and abs that make me feel funny when I look at them too long.”

“Must be missing a pretty big 'but', here, or something, 'cause those all sound like good things.”

Asami nods, “There is one.”

“And?” _Just, get to the point, already, or put some pants on._

Smiling, her lover looks over the gap between them, maybe a couple handbreadths in distance. “You're an Army brat, Korra. It's not a job for you, or a career, it's your life,” she says, pointing at her own stripes, “And I am glad to be a  **part** of that life. Semper Fidelis, all the way, and may we win the Army-Navy game every year. But, I love you a lot more than I love these, you hear?”

Leaning in for another quick kiss, Korra replies, “So do I.”

“I know.”

“But you're still going to opt out, aren't you?” Even without an answer, the driver's smile says it all. Even if Korra marched straight to Colonel Beifong's office, threw her future on the table, and damned the woman to all the hells, it wouldn't change her mind.

Smirking victoriously, Asami says, “I suppose the Joint Chiefs might all drop acid and change the rules on us. Happily ever after ending.”

“Somehow, I doubt it.”

“Don’t be such a bummer all the time. Where’s all your optimism and gung-ho spirit?” Sergeant Sato teases, poking her elbow into Korra’s side. Carefree happiness is etched in her face, shining in her eyes. So different from that nervous panic of what seems a life ago. “We’ll make it work, I know it. Just a couple more months and we’ll be meeting each other’s families, watching every dorky sci-fi on Netflix, and drinking cold beer by the keg. What could go wrong?”

The officer’s face falls to her hands, “Please, no.”

“Fine, we can watch what  **you** want. But the rest of the stuff, we’re doing,” she insists,  hopping up and sorting out discarded boots and fatigues. “I need to requisition new boots for you. The sole’s almost gone on these.”

The chuckle starts as her belongings land her lap, then dies with a knock on the door. It’s a mad scramble to add the layers with the same speed that they’d been removed.

“Give me a minute!”

But the latch clicks, an oil slicked face poking through the gap. Kuvira, brow black and greasy, sweat dripping from her chin. Not a moment of hesitation at their semi-dressed state, to her credit. “If you two lovebirds are done doing the nasty, we’ve got a problem,” her good friend says, flicking eyes between them and sighing.

“W-wha-what is it?” the officer stammers, throwing her outer layer on and fumbling with the buttons.

“Oh, you know, nothing big,” her XO shrugs, a rather firm scowl in place on her face. Though, such had been the case since her much delayed, and even further prolonged, phone call with her darling bundle of joy had been cut off at the switchboard. “Just a couple privates pissing blood.”

Holding up a hand, Korra groans, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One grunt later, and the Top is off. Likely, waiting just outside the door to give her an earful. That leaves the two of them in a rush towards normalcy, orders rattled off to as fast as they pop into a still swimming head. “Get on the horn and find Doc Brown. Tell him to drop whatever he’s doing and get down here. After that, get all this mess squared away. I’ll send a runner when I know what’s going on.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Right away, Ma’am,” Sgt. Sato says, face a glorious shade of crimson, voice a half-octave higher than normal. “I’ll… get right on that.”

_ What could go wrong, indeed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, cat's out of the bag, now. Or, has been?  
> Back to the war, next time. Hope you enjoyed your respite, and that you'll grace me with a comment. Either way, I'll see you in a couple of weeks for a little infantry combat. Many thanks.


	18. One Last Push Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever seen tankers try to take a town on foot? No? Let's give it a go, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty self-explanatory, to be honest. This is the last fight before the end. Hope you enjoy it.

The day had begun so well.

Breakfast of eggs and bacon. Real eggs, not from a carton. Bacon that had never been frozen, same as the orange juice. Coffee, strong and black. Even a choice of pancakes or waffles for the main course.

It was tradition, though, and she should have seen it. To fatten up the ones set for the grunt work. Give them a big meal to bump morale, keep spirits high, and distract from the orders to move out. Plus, shoveling on the calories they would burn running for their lives from dirty holes to crumbling cinderblock walls.

Just like Korra was doing, her meal sitting in the pit of her stomach like a rock. “Keep down! Don't bunch up!” She shoves apart a clump of tankers. “Spread out!”

“Yes, Ma'am!” they say, splitting up for the fourth time, only to edge closer soon as she moves on.

Bullets cut through the air inches over her head like a swarm of angry bees. Her ear picks up every impact, somehow. The smack of copper-coated lead on masonry, sending up puffs of sand and dust on her side of the wall. Those that pass over crack, whiz, pop, and hiss, depending on how far from cutting the Lieutenant down they were. An uncomfortable number of cracks, if she was honest to the timid, cowering part of herself.

An MG team doing the good work, just ahead, forcing her down the little slope to avoid them. One man sends lengthy bursts at distant flashes in tiny windows, the other readying fresh belts and barrels to replace those in current use.

Turning from his task, the loader beckons, “We're running low, here, Ma'am. Gonna need to either get some resupply or start throwing rocks.”

“Just keep firing. I'll send a runner.”  _ You are not my biggest problem. _

“Thanks a ton, Boss!”

No, her major headache were the Iraqi's on the right flank. Some up-jumped son of an MP was in charge of them, and had turned tail the minute mortars started falling anywhere near his HQ. Now his officers had been left in the lurch, half ordering retreat, the other attack, and the troops under them looking set to stay right where they were.

It was a strong position for them. Good ground. Camped up on the hill with clear fields of fire covering most of the town below.

Only problem was, it left her battalion, dismounted and understrength to act as infantry, with an open flank, in a valley, and an army of angry fanatics hurling fire at them like it was going out of fashion. And they were bleeding for every minute of it.

A few of hers lay in the next dip, doing just that. One dead, one dying, and a handful getting patched up. Doc Brown did triage, a radioman from Charlie begs for evac, and Father Tenzin gives last rights to a Corporal with half his guts blown out of him by a grenade. The Padre finishes just as she comes to him. A moment later, his charge stills, head drooping as the last gasp of life leaves him.

“I've never had to do Catholic rights before,” the old, bald man says, closing the soldier's eyes and laying his head on the ground. “How are things, Korra?”

“In general, or just here?”

“The moment will suffice,” he clarifies, making room for a leg wound to get worked on.

Before she can answer, a spray of tracers sting the sky. Pivoting, the former infantryman stands on the spot, eyes searching. She finds an opposite pair to the one she'd passed moments ago, 240 exchanged for a PKM.

Up and down the wall, they go, slowly eating away at the barrier. Not if she has anything to say about it.

The carbine kicks on her shoulder. Single shots aimed carefully at the duo fly out, striking home on the flesh of the enemy. The one's who'd killed her men, are still trying to kill them.

Not anymore.

Back down when they stop moving, right into the conversation. “Don't know what to tell you, Padre. We're up shit creek at the moment, and those jackasses don't want to give us a paddle,” her head jerks in the general direction of the Iraqi hill. “I'm trying to find either Captain Baker or the Colonel. See if we're bugging out or just taking it rough up the ass with no lube. No offense.”

“None taken,” he dismisses, pinching his nose, “Colonel Beifong is up the way about fifty yards, I believe. Be careful, my young friend. I intend to enjoy a few more cup of tea with you before your time on my docket.”

“I'll bring the donuts, Tenzin.”

Head low, and feet swift, she runs from him to the next clump of people. A good bulk of her platoon, right where she'd left them. Spread out in one of the better spots, concealed by thicker scrub and a pair of twisted, desert trees. Running through the middle, a raised, single lane road. High enough that the wall was almost eight feet high at the base of the slope. Perfect cover for them to hunker down behind, along with around a squad of stragglers.

Hands wave her down. Kuvira sternly stares her down, bloody bandage on her wrist. “Please tell me you have permission to flatten this shithole with mortars?”

“No such luck.”

Bolin rips out a long burst with his SAW, blasting across the line at militants held up in a fortified barn. It was from there that the worst fire of the morning had come, only blasted out by rockets and long range grenade-launcher shots.

“Can we at least go back and get some damn armor?” one of the tankers asks, to nods from most his like. “One squad and we'd have this whole damn road open.”

“Quiet down! Either shoot them, or shut up!”

But, Kuvira's eyes seemed to agree with him. Her heart wasn't in the orders, head not in the fight. They were out of their element, and both knew it. Big guns and sweeping maneuvers were easy compared to this lengthy slogging match. The difference that a sight made on three-hundred meters was amazing. As was one of armor to sit and think behind.

The best they have are the Humvee relay. The thin-skinned trucks were making runs for water, ammo, and medivac in shifts. 50 cals were small fry to the Abrams crews, but they were damn sure better than nothing as fire support went.

“Sitrep?”

Top waddles over to their sand and pebble diagram, swiftly redoing broken line and adding several more. “We've pretty much knocked out everything between us and Alpha, far as I can tell.” A series of X's go up over Daesh positions. “Still seeing movement from the farmhouse and the olive orchard.” Circles. “And now we're getting RPG's from the roof of those apartments to the northwest, and small arms from the school.” Arrows from both, right to them in the center.

“What have we got left?”

“Plenty of mags and belts of five-five-six for everyone, if we stay put,” Mako reports, his helmet lost during the advance and replaced by an Iraqi one, “About a dozen forty mil rounds for four tubes, and most of those are smoke. Two LAWs, a satchel charge, and enough grenades to sink an aircraft carrier. And-”

Interrupting him, a loud, wonderful, and commanding voice, “CLEAR BACKBLAST!” Everyone ducks, and a huge column of dust explodes in the wake of the figure knelt in the lane.

Concussion hits Korra in the chest like a punch, and she smiles.  _ Asami. _ “I see she's enjoying her new toy.”

“Here's hoping she doesn't try to use it on you when we're done,” Kuvira jokes, making light of a now open secret. At least at the  **platoon** level. Assurances had been made that rumors stopped dead at the pod's edge. “Pretty sure your tight ass won't be able to fit it.”

She takes the time to punch her friend on the arm. “Shut up, or my foots going up yours.”

“Kinky. But, you know I don't swing that way.”

_ Oh, we both know you do… _

Another time.

The big guns always drew return fire, and this time was no exception. Kalashnikovs ate the ground around Asami's feet as she fell back to the far berm. One of Irish's boys and a neck-bearded Staff Sergeant from HQ plink back. Three-round bursts, as fast as fingers can work the trigger, their equipment having yet to be upgraded to standard.

Each heartbeat is a frantic thing until she loses sight of her lover, and only then as no cries come up for aid.

“How are we for water?” Korra asks, her canteen light on the hip.

“Running low.”

_ Figures. _

_ They don't need to push us out. Just last long enough for people to start dropping from heatstroke. _ That gives them an hour, maybe two, to work with.

Huddling back to the map, the Lieutenant calls all the senior NCO's of her little task force together. “Alright, here's what we're gonna do. Lee, take Hoosier, Garcia, Tiny, and a couple of the Charlie guys and build up a base of fire to our right. Grab whatever you need and get moving.” Mako nods and makes the rounds. “Kuvira, stay put. Keep anyone that can still hold a rifle on the line. Get some mortars chewing up that orchard. I don't want anything nasty jumping us.”

“Sparky! Let's have some fun!”

There's a renewed fire in her friend's eyes as she grabs a pair of binoculars and takes the set in hand. Coordinates are relayed while Waters spaces every body at her disposal just so to hold as long as possible.

Crack shots at the mouth of the break, with Bolin and a grenadier for support. Pairs of soldiers set in intervals of about ten paces, bringing her most the way back to Doc Brown and Father Tenzin. Best she can, one able man to every injured, but almost everyone has a graze somewhere on their body.

_ Have to make do with what we've got. Just until we can pull back. _

Soon.

Mortar shells start falling on the return journey. High, arching bombs that splinter ancient fruit trees into splinters. Among the radiating impacts, the thousand tiny shrapnel impacts, black figures rise and start fleeing towards harder cover,

Lieutenant Waters sees them, running through the falling death, tracers follow in their wake. And she halts, rises up, and starts taking careful shots.

_ Five. _

_ Six. _

_ Seven. _

Her mechanical count. A notch in her belt, each.

They don't affect her, so much. Not these ones. In the empty desert, just under the dunes, her mind had raced with every pull of the trigger, every shell. Every death. But it was deathly still, now. Thudding only for her own sake, her lover, and her men.

On the march, some miles back, at the edge of a town like this one, there had been a pit. A smoldering, gruesome thing. Bodies piled high like in the old war footage. The bad ones grandfather had always scolded her for watching when the rest of the family was in bed. From the end of the last World War.

Now, she knew what had been missing from them. That elusive final factor which had made those men look so grim.

_ The smell… _

When the last fighter had fled or fallen, Korra moves up.

Sgt. Steel rolls over, sliding a fresh magazine into place. Eyes find her face, whatever it looks like in the moment, and she asks, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Why don't you take a rest? Hold tight for a bit?”

The officer's head shakes. She has to keep moving. Up the line until she finds someone that can end this. Someone that can give the order she wants to hear. “Pop smoke and cover me while I cross. You're in charge, again, okay? Just… hold this position til I come back.”

“Copy that,” her closest friend says, looking just as tired as she. “Ferry service! On the double! Pop smoke and covering fire, on me!”

White cans bounce into the gap from either side, several more tossed farther over the wall into the field beyond. Sputtering flames ignite from the base, swiftly filling the air with choking smoke and a scent of burning phosphorus. Clouds of the stuff billow up, catching the wind, filling the sky like a fog bank.

One woman fires, a dozen men follow. Muzzle flashes light up and Kuvira calls, “GO!”

Keep low, move fast, don't trip.

Somehow, it feels a lot longer than she remembered it being before the smoke. The ground was harder, yes? Her boots slip on the parched pavement like it's made of greased ice, one hand bouncing her across on a screaming wrist. Lines of green streak between Korra and the ground, with and even thicker cluster ahead.

Gritting her teeth, she slides.

Back to safety in seconds, but it feels like days for her heart to settle. One bullet had zipped under her nose so close she could still smell it. The heat, the lead, the powder all cling to her nose as hands pull her farther into safety.

Someone pats her helmet. “Hey? Hey, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Sergeant.”  _ Why do people keep asking me that? Can't they see I'm busy? _

“Glad to hear it,” Asami sighs, her pale skin marked by gunsmoke. Free strands of black silk are plastered to her cheeks and forehead, eyes shielded by polarized sunglasses, lips cracked by the same plague they all face. “We were going to draw straws to see who came after you. I told them you were probably fine. Just grabbing a snack at the Exchange on the way over. Didn't want to worry them.”

A laugh, lungs heaving now that adrenaline was waning. “Thanks for taking care of the kids, Sato. I appreciate it.”

“Does that mean I get a reward, later?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

Together they inch down into the drainage ditch at the base of this side of the road. Maybe another couple feet deep, in a steeper trench than the gentle slope of the embankment. “How's Carl treating you?”

“Every time I fire, it feels like getting punched. Everywhere. At once.” Face a grimace, the driver guides them by dozing wounded, mostly face and shoulder damage. The tube lays next to several cases of ammunition and her carbine. Well worn, fresh scuffs in the paintwork. She'd given it some use in Korra's absence. “It feels like my guts are about to fall out, honestly. Could use a break. Or a stiff martini and a handful of naproxin.”

Nodding, the Lieutenant grabs Irish by the shoulder, hauling him from the firing slit he'd dug in the stone. “Have you got anyone else that can fire this?”

“I can give it a shift, if ya like, Ma'am,” the ginger shrugs, giving the weapon a once over. “Couple of blokes from Charlie further along. They might know the kit. Or one of the Engie lads back a ways from the 763 rd ?”

Korra nods, “Set up a detail. Keep a rotation, and conserve ammo. We should be moving out pretty soon, hopefully.”

As if God had heard her, a low hunched runner, face full of fresh shrapnel, came running up the wall. No salute from him, and it took a second to recognize him as the Colonel's world-weary secretary. “Lieutenant Waters, is your radio working?”

“Yes, sir! Just across the road.”

“Excellent,” the man says, as a look of profound relief takes about twenty years of his face. “Colonel! Colonel Beifong, Ma'am!”

“I heard her.” A scowl looms out of the smoke. Salt-and-pepper hair frizzed up by the heat, steely gaze cutting into the junior officer life a burning knife. Met with an equal furious look, welling up inside her belly like a tidal wave. Even now, the Colonel took the time to dismissively tut in her direction. “Good work keeping your people together, Waters. I half expected you to go charging off down the hill, again.”

Korra spat, nominally to get the latest layer of grit out of her mouth, “I would've, Ma'am, but there's no hill here. With your permission, I'll go find one and get a good running start.”  _ To shove my foot up your ass, you crusty old bitch. _

“Don't start with me, girl,” the elder soldier growls, dangerously, “You might be a passable excuse for an officer, but that mouth is going to have you washing dishes in Leavenworth.”

“So long as it's not here, I'm fine with that.”

An elbow rams into her side, and she can feel the intent behind it. It's a blow meant to shut her up, either by putting her on blast or knocking the wind from her lungs. Looking right, Sgt. Sato's face is as white as a bone, with even her sunburn white with whatever mixture of fear and fury lurks behind her glasses.

“Apologies, Colonel Beifong. Ma'am.”

Nodding curtly, the older woman lets it slide, for now. She has more pressing problems than Korra's lip. So did they all.

They sat in the open with an Iraqi division sitting idle in the north, a Brigadier unwilling to commit in force so close to the border, seemingly suicidal defenders ahead, and support elements rendered inactive by a sudden outbreak of gremlins in the comms. Truly, the 2-68 was taking it rougher than anyone asked for in this part of the world, outside some really nasty Tel Aviv nightclubs. A full of case of FUBAR if she's ever seen one. And the bad guys hadn't even given them the courtesy of lubing up.

**Wham!**

And then there's those assholes. “Mortars! Take cover!”

Up the line and back, the call. Everyone dives for the closest patch of dirt and starts digging. With fingers, E-tools, helmets, bits of broken stone, and even the butts of rifles, Yankees eat into the sandy soil like an army of gophers.

“Lieutenant!” Beifong barks, “There's going to be a flight of strike aircraft on station in ten minutes. You have five to grab a spot where you can spot targets, you understand?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“I want that apartment block flatter than a damn pancake.”

“Yes, Ma'am!”

“When that sonuva bitch is gone, we're going to advance on the town. Take your platoon, Windsor's, and any help you think you need from the engineers and advance on that farm. Take it, and dig in. The rest of the battalion will support you from here,” her commander tells Korra, granting more responsibilities on her junior in this one moment than in years of coexistence. “You will be my eyes and ear up there, you hear me?”

_ What crazy dream world have I walked into? _ “I hear you, Ma'am.”

“Let's get it done.”

When the hand is offered, Korra just stares at it for a second, unsure what to do. Shaking her enemies hand seems a poor last act before running off to her (possible) death. But, she does it anyways. Just to tell her father she had.

A few moments later, when the brass has waddled out of earshot, her girlfriend scoots in close. This despite the now sporadic mortar fire and blazing heat. While Lieutenant Waters find her attention focused on relaying the necessary orders, part of it is forcibly diverted by the same sigh she got whenever a Spurs game came on.

“You know,” Asami says, covering her CO's flank down the road, “I think she likes you.”

Under her breath, the veteran whispers, “No, she doesn't. She hates me. Just like I hate you being up here in the open. Get down.”

Of course, the driver does no such thing. Keeps her sights aimed right at the troublesome apartments, mouth firmly in her lover's ear. “Honestly, the two of you have a lot in common. She probably sees a lot of herself in you,” the beauty prattles, firing of a couple bursts into a window blinking with light. It stops, and she continues. “Both fiery, aggressive, alpha types. Both gonna be lifers in the service. Both gay-”

“What!?”  _ She's not gay!  _ “True, blue Colonel Beifong is not batting for our team.”

Asami, likely the love of Korra's life, and one of maybe five people in the world that didn't lose a tooth when disrespecting her, whips around and stares blankly at the former basketball player like she'd admitted being a flat-earther. “You're joking, right? Everyone knows she's gay. The entire Brigade knows she's gay.”

“I don't, and you're full of shit. Shut your mouth and swallow that horse shit. We're getting  **shot** at, leave the jokes for later.”

The woman belly laughs, flicking up her sunglasses to look right in her eyes, green to blue. “Oh my god, this is hilarious!” she roars, shrinking down the slope to be out of sight to the enemy, “Why do you think she keeps that picture of her girlfriend in her pocket, all the time?”

“Picture? What picture?”

“How have you not seen it? She looks at it, constantly.”

“Shut up. I have pictures that I look at, and they aren't of you.”  _ Mostly. _ “It's probably her mom, or her sister, or something.”

A smile spreads on those sweet cherry lips. Pitying and taunting in equal measure. Somehow looking down, while also looking up. “Maybe you're right. Maybe it's perfectly normal to have a pic of your sister blowing you a kiss.”

“Fuck this. Fuck you,” Korra mutters, raising up with the smoke to cover the platoon's crossing, “I have a building to level.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will pick up immediately next time. A literal last push to cap off everything. Wish the girls luck (and me). Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you'll stick around for the conclusion.


	19. One Last Push Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take the objective, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the penultimate chapter, and last of the action. Might be a little hectic, but I hope it's enjoyable.

Level it she did.

The snub-nosed pigs came roaring from the sky, spitting flame and fury. Missiles scream from their undercarriages to fly true into the heart of the enemy. They land with thudding booms and bright flashes of flame, sending brick and masonry flying as entire rooms were blasted out and hollowed. Engines rumble, carrying the strike craft over the low buildings and around in tight arcs. Tracers reach up to meet them, but the flying tanks shrug of the bullets like rain.

Back around, every head ducks, knowing what came next from experience or word of mouth. A sound like the world ending. It made the ground shake, ears pop, heart stop. Cannon rounds decimate the apartments and whatever lay beyond. One by one, the flashes die, consumed by a whirl of shrapnel and death.

After an age, it finally stops, but everything still buzzes. Like that feeling in your hand when you've held a power tool too long. Numb, but also not.

But, there's no time to shake off the feeling.

She rushes to gather her command, move them down the line with all speed. Which is to say, planting boots in people who've grown very fond indeed of their positions. Irish and his boys being the worst of all. Dug in like ticks, and twice as happy about it. One Kuvira intervention later, however…

He can move rather fast, when he wants to.

Gradually, the wall tapers low, again. It's foxhole to foxhole to the jump off point. Each seeming to have a grumpier inhabitant than the last.

They bitch about sand getting all over them, they bitch about being tread on, they bitch about having their firing lines blocked. Some bitch because she's a Lieutenant and they can't do anything but talk soft and salute stiffly until she moves on to the next hole. One bitches that the only time God's ever had a woman fall into his lap she's in uniform, outranks him, and is, quote “one of the crazy ones”.

She leaves him with a scowl, Asami sliding in behind her, feet aimed directly for the soldier's gut. By the sound of pain that echoes over the sporadic gunfire, it was rather good aim. Then again, precision was always more her thing.

Soon, she's gathered her motley group in the shadow of the olive grove. Just at the edge, where branches still offer half decent protection from the sun. Twelve of hers, nine of Windsor's that can walk, and a squad of the most eager looking engineers. They drip with breaching charges and grenade bundles, and their Sergeant has a manic look of subdued pyromania brewing.

_ Gonna haveta watch that one… _

Once she has the men counted and arrayed, the NCO's trickle in to a rough circle around her. Each has an expectant look. Some even look eager. Most of all, they all look more ready for a fresh fight than she feels.

Nodding to them all, she says, “Standard op. Keep to cover, advance in staggered squads. Just got word comms are coming back online, so we should have mortars and arti, if we need it.” There are some smiles and muttered words at the news. “We'll stop at the wall, but we need to move fast. We have no idea how many fighters they still have in the orchard, or inside. Time is not on our side, understand?”

“Yes, yes, yes. We get it, already,” Kuvira answers for everyone, checking her chamber, “I take mine to the house, you follow me in and take the big building, Pooh Bear pulls our collective asses out of the fire if shit gets hot. Am I right?”

“Hold on, did you just call me-”

“Yes, Lieutenant Windsor, I did. Get the cotton out of your ears and scold me on respect later,” the senior sergeant snaps at the fresh, green shavetail, who cowers from her wrath. “Come on, this shit is taking too long, and I need to take a piss in a flush toilet. Let's go, people. I have other things to do today, besides die next to all of you.”

Left stunned by the outburst, Korra abbreviates the rest of her briefing for time's sake. Not that it's particularly complicated. Her friend was just tired.

So tired.

_ So tired… _

_ I miss my bed. My sheets. The clothes on the floor in the bathroom. _

_ I want to go home. _

“Good luck, see you on the other side,” the tanker tells them, watching them disperse to their squads before hustling over to her own. All three lie prone in the roots of a fallen olive, sharing a meager lunch of smuggled (stolen) crackers, beans, and chocolate.

Bolin looks up first and weakly waves, “Hey, Lieutenant. We saved you a Snickers, if you want it. Oh, and I’ve got some of those little-”

“Later. Are you three ready to move?”

The elder grunts, swallowing, and popping a fresh stick of gum in his mouth. “As we'll ever be.” He sights down the length of his rifle, letting it rest on a root so his off hand can scrounge on his belt, until it grips the handle of a blade. “But, I'd feel better if my gun went 'boom', instead of 'pew-pew'.”

With a flick, he draws the blade and spins it around in his hand, before sliding it into place at the end of his carbine. The bayonet glints in the desert sunlight. Menacingly polished cold steel, edge sharp to the eye, even from a distance.

In the back of her mind, Korra makes a note to keep the man ahead of her, at all times. All it would take was one slip to lose her a kidney.

She checks her watch, glass freshly cracked by one of her many spills. The second hand slowly ticks down to the jump off. Each one makes an eye twitch. Rounding a minute makes her heart seize. Time slips through her fingers like grains of sand, counting down these moments of relative safety towards ones of abject terror.

So starts the tremor in her legs.

Fingers clench on her rifle until they go white, and hurt, and threaten to crush the thing. Breathing hurts, too. Lungs burn like acid fills them.

_ I can't breath, _ the officer realizes, tugging as her collar. Too tight. Everything was too tight. Suffocating, claustrophobically close on every side. From the people, to her clothing, to the bullets popping all around.  _ Stop shooting! Why won't everyone stop shooting at me!?!? _

_ Why won't the blood stop? _

_ Why am I still screaming? _

Screaming.

She had screamed so loud. It had hurt so bad. Every moment she'd begged for it to end. Just like she was praying now.

_ Please, God, make it stop. I don't want to do this again, _ Korra pleads with the almighty, shrinking down into the olive roots for whatever safety they offered.  _ Don't make me run out there again. Give me my tank back. Let me go home. _

“Korra?” an angel says. Green eyed angel, full of hellfire. “Are you okay?”

“No,” the tanker weakly chuckles back, biting into her lip until blood flows over the chapped and cracked skin. “You?”

Her head shakes, tight bun losing another few strands. “Not really,” Asami says, smile tight on her full lips. The sunburn on her face was angry and red. Almost a blister, in places. But that was the worst that could be said of her appearance, which was more than could be said of some. “I'll feel a lot better when I'm over  **there** , drinking a big glass of ice water, though.”

“I'm afraid I've got some bad news, then,” Mako grunts, shifting away from the knee poking into his back. “Pretty sure the flyboys flattened the power station a week ago, so that means no ice. And I wouldn't put it past these fucks to blast the water supply, too.”

Sighing, his brother complains, “Next thing you're gonna tell me, they ate all the donuts and pissed in all the coffee.”

“No.  **I** ate all the donuts.”

“Damnit.”

Their heads were firmly on. Even if hers wasn't. They weren't eager, or angry, or worried. Just ready. Ready to follow orders. To follow her. Out across this plain of devastation and into the jaws of the enemy.

Once more into the breach.

_ I can do this… _

_ I can do this. _

_ I  _ **_can_ ** _ do this! _

A sound. Rumbling in the distance. Like thunder over the plain before a storm. Heavy, gut-punching booms of big guns getting into action.

“Time to move.”

The first of the artillery lands short of the farm, sending columns of earth and sand and stone flying into the air. More bracket the exterior, adding masonry to the flying cloud of debris. Finally, the last shells strike home, blasting out the entire upper floor of the house, and making the barn disappear behind a wall of smoke. Eight of them in total. An entire battery of howitzers being brought to bear for their sake.

You couldn't ask for much more in the way of cover. “Let's go!” she shouts over the roar of the next salvo coming in. Legs move, raising her up before the shakes get out of hand. “2nd Platoon, with me!”

Frog-stepping around the corner, Korra listens and watches covering fire erupt along the line. Dozens of muzzle flashes spout from the weapons of hidden figures. Poking out of holes and over walls, an army of mole people join the heavy field pieces in suppressing the enemy. Hopefully more than that, as well.

She doesn't look back. Doesn't dare. Whether the rest came or not, she has to keep moving forward. Else she move twice as fast backwards.

_ Charge! _

Kinda…

Hard to charge over roots and rocks, each a broken ankle in the making.

Better to move and scoot with the rest of her platoon. Ducking from cover to cover, the rest of the Yankees moving up through them when they pause, taking the next bunch of hard ground for their own. Every second dreading the enemy rise up and strike back.

One or two do. Stragglers from the advanced force driven back by the earlier mortars. Bloodied, stunned, yet determined foes. Unwilling to lay still and be stepped over while they can still draw breath. Fighting to the last, spraying wild shots over her troops heads, fumbling desperately with grenade pins, wild malice in their eyes.

Korra damn near steps on one of them. A bearded man of middle age. Plump, with hair graying at the temples, and a little patch of baldness at the crown.

**Bang! Bang!** His pistol barks.

She's dead.

She knows it even as her instincts bring the barrel of her M4 level with his eyebrow. “Drop it!” the woman orders in English, with no idea why. The Arabic balances on the tip of her tongue when the man's aim shifts to match hers.

Blood and brain and bits of skull explode from his forehead, speckling the tanker's legs. Those same legs lift the officer passed the jihadist before his arms have time to fall.

Dead.

Dead and gone.

In a ditch outside some dinky town in the middle of nowhere.

As deaths went, it wasn't nearly the best. Still, it was better than some. Like that of those extremists whose resolve had shattered under the pounding of heavy mortars. That thundering drum of the Gods and Dogs of war. Plucking men up and pulling them apart. One leg in this tree, an arm in another, torso farther up than either.

Pools of flesh. Puddles of former humans. Corpses so riddled with shrapnel they had lost form and were only substance. Masses that roughly form the outline of people, if you squint.

One of Korra's boots slip in the blood of one, her body falling across it. Wet and warm and awful. Enough to instantly empty the scant contents of her stomach as she forges on, kicking the poor unfortunate into the hole left by the bomb that had likely killed him in doing so.

With the foul taste in her mouth, and a great red stain down her front, Korra pulls herself the last few feet. To safety, however fleeting.

Boots slide in right behind her. Big ones, with a growing boy in them. Hefting his SAW, dripping like he had his own personal rainstorm, Bolin coughs and wheezes into position. “What the hell happened to you?” he asks, helmet askew and eyes a little fuzzy. There's a burgeoning bruise over his right eye, and his body sways like he's on a boat in heavy seas. “You-  **Are** you hit? Ma'am.”

“I fell. You?”

“Punched in the face,” the loader smirks, a little dumbly. He sure looks it.

“Ours or theirs?”

“Theirs.” He smiles, showing off a freshly chipped tooth. “Got me good when I fell into his foxhole. Pretty sure I hit him harder, though.” Fingers wiggle, showing off the fresh tear in the fabric around his bruised knuckles.

“Dead?”

“Nah,” the Corporal denies, curling over to gasp for air his lungs seemed to be struggling with. “Won't be waking up any time soon, though. Socked him good.”

She nods at him, stowing that away for later. MP's were already having a tough enough time with what few prisoners they'd taken up to now. An unruly bunch from a couple dozen countries, with half as many languages to worry about translating, and about ten times the number of grudges between cells and individuals.

Then, she levels her carbine over the cover and takes stock. Again, she's lucked herself to the farthest rearward of all her platoon. Even Asami, burdened as she is by the heavy recoilless rifle, shuffles in with the Mako and Kuvira by the right wing only steps after Korra.

Thirty-eight…

No, thirty-six. Another two gone down in the advance. One with a broken ankle, the other helping him along. To go with those lingering with Doc and Tenzin.

Fewer than she'd like, but hopefully enough.

About twenty yards distant, rising up like some blank slate of sandstone, another wall. This one as pocked by bullet marks as the opposite side of theirs had been. Higher than she'd been able to gauge at a distance. Thicker too, by the look of it. Great chunks of it off to the left were blown open and scattered by the big guns, whose fire had thankfully moved elsewhere, for the moment. Perfect points for either entry or ambush.

She signs to Windsor:  _ Get ready. _

The shavetail nods then points off to the left:  _ Half of mine go there. Other half, attack. _ His hands beckon to the engineer sergeant, bending his head low, while the NCO strokes a satchel charge with an alarming affection.  _ Ok. _

Lieutenant Waters moves up, flatter than a snake. Eating dirt along the fastest track to her XO. Pants torn at the knee, arm held stiffly by her side. It seems everyone has had a bad spill.

“Thought we lost you,” the woman says when Korra's hand grips her ankle.

“Almost.”

She's pulled up and immediately cowers under the shadow of the fallen trunk. But her old friend is a welcome presence. Firm as ever, determined enough for both of them.

“Good,” Kuvira hums, eyes snapping back towards the enemy. A smile creeps onto her lips. An almost drunken one, fueled by adrenaline and a thrill lost to Korra without the afety blanket of Raava. “Mama always said you should have one good near-death experience a day. Builds the character. Puts hair on your chest.”

“I thought you were an orphan?” one of her crew questions, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Adopted,” she corrects, “There's a difference.”

Mako chuckles at some joke only he can hear, knowing better than to voice it in present company. Instead, he chews bubblegum and says, “Looks pretty quiet from here. Either they're all dead, still shitting themselves, or we're in for a rough fight.”

“Why? Why couldn't you stop at the second one?” Asami begs of him, loading a fresh round into her launcher. “One time, that's all I ask. Just once will you not be you.”

“No promises.”

“God dammit,” the party girl sighs, smiling wider than anyone. Not carefree, but happier than she'd been on the far side of the orchard. A joy that trickles into the officer's veins like rum and coke on a binge. “When we get back stateside, we're all going to a club, and you're buying everyone a drink. Then, everyone's buying me drinks-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kuvira cuts in, “Why would any of  **us** buy  **you** drinks?”

“Because, I plan on getting really fucking drunk and the Army doesn't pay me enough to do that,” the junior sergeant explains, blinking in that way she does when someone says something she finds particularly stupid. “And, if I drink enough, I might become one of the dancers.”

All eyes turn to Korra. Questioning, interested, and occasionally lecherous eyes. Some of whom were more surprising than others. “Is this true?” her XO asks, being one of the surprises.

_ I will kill you in your sleep! _

“Cut the chatter,” the Lieutenant says instead, biting her tongue, “We're on the clock.”

Smirking with the rest, her lover follows close behind Mako as they start edging to the wall. Hollow to hollow, trunk to trunk, bantering enough to make Korra cringe for their safety. Loud soldiers often made for dead soldiers. There were to be no more of those.

A hand pats her on the shoulder, words worm into her ear, “Calm down, you emo headcase. Unwind your springs before you snap.”

“Shut up.”

“No,” her friend says, rapping knuckles on her helmet. She sends up the engineers and their breaching charges. Checks her weapon. Looks over at the Lieutenant before rolling her eyes. “You're going to be  **fine** . We take this place, hop on a plane, and you two can lock yourselves in a room for a week. Or whatever the hell you're planning on doing. Me, I'm getting my drink on. Free shots as far as the eye can see.”

“Not spending time with your 'widdle man'?”

She chuckles a little, both women closely watching det-cord being measured, cut, and stretched between smoothly formed cones of C-4. A precarious balance between destruction and control. Just enough to do the job. “That too.”

“I hate this,” Korra says, wishing again for a big chunk of steel to ensure such a happy outcome. “Whoever thought it was a good idea for tankers to be doing leg work should be shot.”

“I think that was the General's idea, Ma'am.”

“Damn.”

_ I can't shoot him. _

With the explosives set, the engineers scurry back to safety. This banishes any thoughts of mutiny. For the time being, at least. And only because staying as she was might end up with masonry in her eyes. Then, she wouldn't be able to find Kuvira's neck to strangle.

_ Unacceptable. _

_ You're married, you jackass. Back off! _

This friendly anger focuses her mind. Trims the fat of fear. All becomes the mission. One final mission that stands between her and home. So focused is she that Korra almost forgets to cover her ears and open her mouth in time.

“CLEAR!” the engineer's sergeant barks, followed seconds later by a sound halfway between a crack and a boom. Deafening, even under the cacophony of artillery shells hammering the outskirts of the town and mortars and rockets landing in return. A punch to the gut the Lieutenant swears lifts her off the ground by half an inch, as well as making the sand dance in the shockwave.

Back up, and a roughly human sized hole has appeared. Just enough to get them through.

“Stack up!” the officer orders, leaping out of her comfy position and running flat out for the near side of the gap. Each blink she pictures someone stepping out and spraying an AK into their mass, or flinging out a grenade at her feet. Something. Some kind of defense.

She makes it, safe.

Kuvira hits the other side, her crewmen just behind, just as Korra's line up as their mirror. The Irishman takes his to the far edge, acting as a light screen against a flanking assault. Not enough to hold, but would slow anything short of a proper push long enough for relief or the small reserve to stem the tide.

Taking a peak around the corner, Lieutenant Waters is relieved to find no waiting bunker set to repel them. A small windowless outbuilding is set around halfway between her group and Windsor's, with a narrow alley between it and the outer wall. Further in are the obviously visible barn and farmhouse, constructed of the same smooth stone and thin mortar as the wall. Both smolder and burn, equally lifeless, with windows empty of the blinking lights that had troubled the battalion all morning.

“Grenades, then smoke,” the CO says softly, ears listening for any movement other than the crackling of flames and her own breathing. She signs,  _ “You clear left, I'll clear right.” _

A nod.

Bolin's pats her shoulder twice.  _ All ready. _

Speed. It had been over a minute since the blast. Surprise was slipping away with every second. Time that she needs so very desperately, as well as the other platoon stealing the brunt of attention with their attack.

**Bang!**

**Bang!**

The blast of grenades, then the shouts of advance.

_ Only smoke it is, then,  _ Korra thinks, gritting her teeth as Kuvira seethes and her crew shake their heads in disbelief. White cylinders are handed up, pins pulled, and gently tossed to give maximum coverage. Phosphorus sparks and splutters a moment, before billowing the same thick white smoke that had covered her crossing.

With a wave of her hand, they go. One by one, in staggered line, a few seconds between each. In that flatfooted duck walk beaten into her bones by a series of progressively louder drillmasters, Korra spins around the corner with her head on a swivel.

Empty windows, broken stone, black and silver smoke. Not a sign of life in sight.

Tossing glance behind her, she finds the comforting sight of an offset column of three. Rifles leveled at the ready, eyes scanning everywhere at once, the very picture of soldiers.

She tenses at the sound of gunshots. Off towards where the engineers should be clearing. Out of sight, yet not out of mind, she put her anxiety aside once more. For ahead was the corner of the house, along with a slightly ajar door. Unbroken, but slightly blemished by a smeared, bloody handprint around shoulder height.

“Check the corner,” she orders, pointing to the spot, while keeping the entry firmly in her crosshairs. Shifting her hand to the other side of the door, she adds, “Asami, there. Mako, behind me.”

Again they stack up, only this time face to face. Her girlfriend flashes the quickest smile, softening in an instant from her battle-hardened exterior. A whiff of char emanates from the crack, curling her pretty nose as she mouths, “I do  **not** want to go in there.”

“Neither do I,” Korra breaths back with a shrug, tugging a grenade from her waist.

“All clear here,” the loader reports, shoulder scraping against the wall as he kicks at something on the ground. “Got what looks like three dead, maybe four, can't tell. Nothing's moving.”

Not losing a second, the officer lets her mind flow straight to her mouth to keep thinking out of the equation. “Alright. Corporal, stay here and cover the corner in case they come running out as we go in. When Irish gets here send him in after us, and tell him to fucking yell it before hand. Don't want any Blue-on-Blue. We'll clear room by room and hold position at the stairs until then. Everyone got that?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” they all chorus.

“And leave that here,” the tanker adds, nodding to the Gustav on the driver's back. “Pretty sure if they've got any armor, it's going to be out here.”

“Spoilsport. You ruin all my fun.”

“Don't complain so much next time, then.”

She grumbles, mostly in jest, but removes the heavy tube regardless. It was a big heavy chunk of steel to move around with. Let alone inside a crumbling building, which was likely burning in more than a few places. Easy to snag, too, from personal experience. In other words, a big, explosive, bullet magnet death trap.

The countdown.

_ Three… _

Asami's hand quietly slides onto the door, ready to push it open.

_ Two… _

A cli-clack of Mako's rifle as he slides a fresh magazine into place, letting out a calming breath.

_ One... _

Pull the pin, hold tight to the lever. The tiny sphere of death, ticking timebomb in her palm. Arm back to toss it around three meters down the hall. Give or take a couple feet.

_ Breath. _

Don't think.  **Act.**

“Breach!” Korra shouts. The door swings wide, her swing already in process. Spring tension launches the little handle free as the grenade bounces out of sight. It clanks off the wall, skittering over what sounded like either tile or stone, then hit something wooden.

At that, the first signs of life in her sector erupt. Voices shout a clamor with feet falling heavy in the hallway beyond. With the blood pounding in her ears she can't translate with her sloppy knowledge of the language, but the emotion behind the words is obvious. Automatic fire bursts out in a hail of tracers and splintered wood, nearly striking her as Korra flung a second bomb to follow the first.

They go off within a second of each other. Bright flashes and resonating smacks which almost overcome the sound a million angry hornets imbedding themselves in everything and everyone.

Turn.

Carbine on her left shoulder, she steps into the dust and darkness. Pan left and right. Clear. Three doors, one larger opening in the distance, no lights beside that filtering in behind her. Advance swiftly, but carefully. Checking every footfall for wires or other traps. Step over the shattered, waist high barricade, along with the pair of corpses.

Dead though they may be, she still treads wide of them, kicking rifles from limp hands as she goes.

To the first door. Breath on her neck, hand on her shoulder. Slim and effeminate, but roughened to be more calloused than hers. Even though Asami complained about them on an almost daily basis, they suited her just fine.

Tough.

Strong.

Trying to brush a bit of dirt off her neck.

“Knock it off.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” she tuts, straps of her armor chafing as she stood retook her weapon. “Ready.”

Korra stuttersteps back, lashing out against the latch with her boot to a satisfying crunch. The panel swings wide, opening up on a modest, if barren, bedroom. One lamp shines dimly on the nightstand as she swings right, trusting Asami to clear left as Mako held the hall.

“Allah h-” a man shrieks, cut short by a burst of the driver's carbine. The TC spins, taking a knee, and adds her own burst into his gut as blood sprays from a jagged gash in his throat.

It wasn't pretty.

Not that anything today had been. Still, it ranks among the most graphic. How he takes ages to collapse, limp limbs all a tangle, froth oozing from parted lips. The wet thud when his chest met the floor. Sickening.

But her darling just speaks a robotic, “Clear left.”

“Clear right,” she replies, hurrying out the way they came. Just in time to see the gunner go by, already prepping for the next room.

Empty.

So is the next, though her heart nearly explodes when her love is first into the unknown, leaving her hovering on the outside. Worrying. Making seconds, blink, and heartbeats last days in the eerie silence with a mind set on filling itself with the most awful things imaginable.

Next, the main room. Stripped bare of everything of value, down to the pictures on the wall. Flames flicker here and there, most having fallen from a breach from the floor above, others spawning from a pair of arcing electrical lines in the far corner. Smoke rises from each, pooling like storm clouds on the ceiling. A swirling mass of brown, black, and gray shapes. Slithering snakes worming out of every orifice. Blown out windows, shattered doors, and up the stairwell.

“We should get out before this place goes up,” Mako says, eyeing the growing blaze with concern. “Or worse.”

Sparks spray forth from the severed wires, showering a set of cabinets with white-hot embers. None catch, but a decent draft might easily change that. “I second that opinion,” the party girl agrees, wobbly on her feet. Her hand braces her against the wall, bending over to wretch her recent demi-meal up. “Fuck! Sorry. Didn't mean to do that.”

“Are you okay?”

Deep, shuddering breaths. Pained, almost panicked sounding ins and outs of scorching air. Eyes unreadable, smile weak, hold weak on her rifle's grip. “Just… just processing. Shot someone. Letting that sink in. Give me a second.”

_ No, more than a second, _ Korra frowns, heart clenching with a desire to wrap her arms tight around Asami and hold her all the way home.

“Stay here and catch your breath,” the officer tells her, rolling to get the stiffness out of her shoulder, but only making it worse, somehow. Hurt like she'd pulled something in her fall, adrenaline keeping in numb up to now. “Sergeant, cover the door. I'll take the stairs. We'll give it five minutes. If the others aren't here by then, we'll bug out and blast the top floor.”

When she moves, her gunner moves to stop her, eyes narrowed at her shoulder. “Korra, you're bleeding.”

“I'm what?”

Fingers drag over the entire area, covered in drying, scabby remnants of her fall. Even father, passed the vest. To something wet. Hot and wet. And red.

“Hold on, let me-”

“GRENADE!”

Someone hits her, hard. Palms slam into her chest like a punch, sending her toppling backwards into the dirt. All the breath is forced from her lungs as someone lands on top of her, forming a protective shell with her body against the blast that echoes from the stairway.

There's the usual zing of flying metal. Pinging impacts on stone, with others landing with a wet snap. “Fuck,” a pained voice breaths, lips so close to her. Emerald eyes dry and irritated, a thousand red lines checkerboarded across them. “Fuck! Are you okay? Korra? Are you-”

“I’m good.”

“We need to move!” Mako yells, squeezing off bursts passed her sight. “Get up! Fucking MOVE!”

Patting her love’s arm, Lieutenant Waters tries to shift out from under her. But, the woman’s weight is still a dead one. She offers no help in moving, breathing labored and ragged, little tears on her cheek. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt,” Asami whimpers into her chin, “Fuck, it hurts so bad.”

Then she stills, going almost limp, and Korra’s heart explodes. “Mako! Mako, help me! Get help! Someone help!”

Her words become a jumble as she scrambles out from under her girlfriend, tears blinding her as she blubbers. The woman’s pants are torn to ribbons. Red. So red. Long, beautiful legs oozing blood from over a dozen holes.

“No…”

She presses down to hold in her life, but it only seeps through her fingers.

_ No, no, no, no, no! _

“Medic! MEDIC!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, hold on. Before you go burning me at the stake in your heads, let me explain.  
> I promised you a happy ending, all those chapters ago, and I damned well mean to follow through. This work will only have happy endings, even if getting there I unpleasant. Expect happy times and kisses galore in the finale, along with two VERY ALIVE lesbians. Apologies if that cuts the tension a ways, but I wanted you all to know.


	20. A Real Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami wakes up to a whole new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could say I planned for this to end on a nice even number, but I honestly didn't. Hopefully this last chapter is one of the better ones.

Asami woke up with perhaps the second-to-worst headache in her life. Worse than the black-out binge weekend after winning State, but less horrific than when her head had gotten intimately acquainted with a dashboard. That time, she hadn't been able to open her right eye for a week. Or stop crying for a month.

This time?

She'd settle for someone turning off the damn light.

It hums. A faint buzzing that was impossible to ignore. Same as the lingering odor of bleach and sanitizer that stung her nose with every breath.

Tired.

Every part of her was so tired, and numb, and lethargic. Lifting open a single eyelid took an enormous amount more effort than usual. The second was almost not worth it. Only a little more of the blank, off-white ceiling and a second sprinkler head.

_ Good. I already hate this place. Must mean I'm still a live _ , she thought, opening her lips a crack to moisten them with her equally dry tongue.

When she tries to move anything else, she meets resistance. Not the fickle one of her body begging her brain for five more minutes, but the hard limit of a restraint of some kind. Padded against the wrists they bound with a little bit of give. Still, not comfortable, not by a long shot. Even a little panicking to a mind still groggy with whatever drug was making the room look all fuzzy, no matter how many times she blinked.

“Nurse,” she croaks, “Nurse!”

Her voice is just as gravelly as her throat feels. Like the sound of gargling marbles in a sandstorm.

“Take it easy, Sergeant,” a gruff and unfamiliar voice tells her, the face attached appearing suddenly above her. A dark face, shaved clean, his hair done to the letter of regulation. Older, but not old. Just a touch of gray at the temples. Something familiar around the jawline. And in the cheekbones. God, even his eye look stunningly familiar. “They'll be here in a second.”

A door clicks, and another male voice asks, “Yes, General?”

“Could you get someone to take these damn things off, son?” the older soldier requests, strumming the nearest one to him like a guitar string. “And tell Dr. Pierce and my daughter that Sgt. Sato is awake.”

“Right away, sir.”

It clicks, again, just as other things click in the NCO's brain. Those eyes were unmistakable. Bluer than the sea and sky, combined. His uniform, same as hers in almost every way, was finely laundered and pressed, but wrinkled where it had been hurriedly stuffed into a bag. Stateside sheen still on every button. Not a stray fiber or mended seam. Everything about the man was just as prim and proper as she had been told.

Her vision, clearer by the second, finally let the woman read his name tag.  _ Waters. _

“I hope you'll forgive me for not saluting, sir,” Asami says to him in an attempt a icebreaking humor, “I'm a little tied up, as you can see.”

One laugh escapes his lips as they curl into a slim smile. “Not for long, I hope,” General Waters replies, patting the invalid lightly on the shoulder. Slowly, he takes a seat in a chair roughly positioned at her head. “I've been waiting for three days to shake the hand of the woman that saved my daughter's life.”

“Korra- I mean!”

The slip doesn't go unnoticed. One eyebrow quirks a bit to match the twitch in his grin. “Alive and well, thanks to you,” the General reports, taking it upon himself to undo the restraint on her arm. “On the mend down the hall.”

_ Thank God _ , she thought, remembering a second later all that had come before her impulse of panic. “And the others? Lee, Stone, Steel?”

Mr. Waters checks his watch and hums, “Somewhere over the Atlantic.”

On a plane? That meant she's been unconscious for days. Where was she, even? Baghdad? Frankfurt? Stateside? Definitely an Army hospital, wherever it may be. When her head turns away from the man in the chair, she finds a line on bunks identical to hers. Some filled, some not. Some with more tubes and wires connected to them than her. One or two that might be familiar.

“You did good work. At least, that's what I heard.” His smile grew even more. Broad like his daughter's, as though laughter was waiting to spill forth from his lips. “I've also been hearing quite a few other things about you through the grapevine.”

“Like what, Sir?”

“Enough.”

He knew. How did everyone know? Were they that obvious, or was there a spy in their midst, leaking drama up the chain.  _ Bolin? _

_ No, Kuvira. _

“I've heard a lot about you. Second hand,” His smile grew even more. Broad like his daughter's, as though laughter was waiting to spill forth from his lips. “Honestly, the girl's almost at bad at keeping secrets as her mother. From what I heard, she rode the entire way to the aid station holding someone's hand. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, young lady?”

After a silent moment, Korra's father stands and gives Asami's shoulder another pat. “We can talk about all that later. Once I can dig out some old pictures to embarrass her with,” he decides for both of them, “There's someone else I'm sure you'd rather be talking to, I imagine?”

She blushes half a shade, “Yes, sir.”

“I'll go fetch her for you, since the people that are supposed to work here can't be bothered. Bunch of animals,” the man says, making for the door while heavily favoring his right leg. A hand rubs it constantly as he grumbles. “Damned place has to be the worst run outfit I've ever seen. Potter's lost his touch.”

Once he's gone, Asami takes stock of herself. Counts fingers, wiggles toes. Ten and ten. Her legs won't move, but that's because her ankles are bound by the same restraints as her wrists.

There's something there. The ghost of pain that throbs under the overall numbness of the IV drip. Faintly prickling whenever there's any kind of movement. Sore, like she's slept wrong, getting worse the farther down she tries to test. Hands find bandages, starting at around mid thigh, but muscles lack the strength to contort her body up to a sitting position, let alone feel how low the damage went.

If memory serves, it was all the way. Feet to the base of her spine.

Memory floods back in her silent prison. The sound of footsteps on the floor above, with her eyes laser focused on a red stain on her girlfriend's shoulder. Coughed, garbled words from up the stairs. A figure standing in the smoke and flame.

She'd seen the pin pulled. It had slipped from the man's hand to fall in a soft arch to the first step, then bounced at her like a ball.

_ Run! _

With everything, Asami had tackled Korra to the ground. It had been the only thing in her mind. To protect. Save her beautiful idiot. Do what she hadn't been able to on that icy road, all those years ago. To not cry anymore.

Fingers trace her tender scar. Tears dabble her eyes.

Sergeant Sato wipes them off with the back of her hand. Breathes deep to fight off the others that follow up the first. But she was so happy, so sad, and so relieved, all at once. To be honest, she didn't even know why. All she did was wake up with a stranger in the same room as her, acting as the bearer of good news. Even though it was the best of news.

The door opens again, softly. Halting and creaking over the sound of frustrated cursing every couple of seconds. A voice she knows arguing with someone she can't hear.

“Corporal, just- Stop, for fuck's sake! Get the damn door, for the love of god, man!” Korra berates him, impatiently lashing out with her foot so hard the door shakes on it's hinges and makes them scream open to the wall. “There! Was that so hard?!”

He blubbers in a nasally voice, “Hey, you can't do that!”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, but-”

“But what? You people keep me cooped up twenty-two hours a day. I can't walk, I can't drink, I can't go to the fucking bathroom without a nurse hovering over me,” the officer growls with a familiar mania in her words. Asami can see the way she slaps his hands from the wheelchair she's sat in, and the redness of his wrists from all the other smacks. “Just, I don't know, go count paperclips or something. I can handle this.”

Round cheeks flush under even rounder glasses. “Oooo, if you weren't a Lieutenant...”

“Radar! RADAR!!!” another tempestuously tempered woman calls at the dumpy little man, sending him into flight with a folder over his head. “Who told you to let this patient out of her room? I want an answer, Corporal!”

The sound of them is muffled as the ward door swings shut behind the wheels of her chariot. Silver and dark blue, contrasting rather well with her light-blue hospital gown.

_ At least she still matches. _

Even the sling under her arm matches. Dark blue with a black strap. Quite sleek, very slimming. Almost so form hugging she didn't notice the limpness with which the limb in it hung. Dangling like a wet noodle, wrist lolled at an awful angle. The sight of it threatens new tears in her wet eyes. “Am I hallucinating?”

“I sure hope so,” she says, smiling like the damn, “'Cause I can swear you're crying.”

“Haha… I guess I am.”

Wheels squeak as one hand does the work of two in closing the gap between the two women. “What for?” asks her girlfriend, smile tensing for a moment. “Did, uh… Did my dad say something? I'll kick his ass for you, if he did. I promise.”

“No. No, it's not that.”

Her good hand rests on Asami's arm, quickly embraced by the Driver's. With a squeeze, one checks that the other is real, along with seeking comfort from the closest they could be. At least for the moment. “You're alive?” the Sergeant asks, holding on as tight as her numb and withered muscles could grip, lest her darling turn to smoke and fade away.

“Yep.”

“We're both alive?”

“Thanks to you,” Korra hums, lifting both their arms and letting them drop back to the mattress gently. “And Doc. And that medevac pilot with the huge mustache.”

She'd have to ask for that story, at some point. Maybe when they were drunk and naked, or maybe when they were gray and old. Some time that wasn't now. Now, she only wants to hold hands until the end of time.

“I love you.”

No care was given to if anyone was listening. If any of the bed-bound soldiers wanted or were able to eavesdrop, let them. Let them have rumors and gossip and whatever else their beady little eyes and ears seized upon. Asami has eyes like sapphires to stare at, an easy smile to admire. Bandages to worry about, poking from under the edge of her collar.

“I love you, too,” the Lieutenant tells her, grin growing half an inch, “But, I hate seeing you cry. More than anything.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it.”

“I've seen you try to choke down Brussels sprouts. It's like you're trying to eat a cat box,” the driver jokes, wiping away the dampness again. A single breath forces its way down her throat to be held until composure is forced into the rest of her body. “Better?”

The woman shrugged, “Just a little. Can I get a smile?”

“Jackass.”

But she smiles anyways. Can't help it as her love brushes her skin with a lazy thumb, just as she does as they laze on the couch with one of her terrible movies.

Moving hurts. Even inching a little closer to the side of the bed is enough for eyes to snap shut like bear traps. Teeth sink deep into her lip to keep from screaming through that fuzzy haze over everything. It pulses deep in angry veins, eventually quieting the agony that is Asami Sato's legs. And only just a little, if her hands clenched down hard on whatever was available. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the daughter of a congressman curses, “I thought they gave you morphine?”

“You've been out since before you got here. They've probably just got you on enough to not crawl out of your skin,” the officer reasons, leaning back to press one of a line of buttons on the wall. To the raised eyebrow, she answers, “Repeat customer. I know all the secret codes.”

_ I guess you would. _

Slowly, the throbbing eases into a round score or so of hotpoints. All of which were unfortunately pointed in a generally downwards direction.

As though sensing her distress, or more likely just seeing it painted on her face like a Picasso, Korra hits the button a couple more times. “The, uh, the docs told me they got most of the shrapnel out. Took them a while, but I don't know how long,” the officer rambles, playing for time and distraction until the nurse arrived. “I was in and out while you were getting worked on. Half a nine-mil in my shoulder.”

“That makes what, three Purple Hearts, now?”

“One more and I get a free ice cream sundae in the Mess.” Eyebrows waggle under uncharacteristically messy bangs as her wounded shoulder shifts. “Speaking of, yours should be coming through by the end of the week.”

“A medal?”

“A formality. The other one you got put up for is for stupidity.”

Now that was a surprise. “Other one?”

“Just a little something-something from the Colonel. Nothing to write home about,” she waves off, “Your dad's called about every half-hour for a sitrep, by the way.”

Deeply buried in her chest, something grumbles of long hours in an empty house. Always being shoved out the door, dragged by the arm. Functions, dinners, boarding school, cram school, prep school. Never made a game. Never there to talk to. Always apologizing about everything, promising that it'll be different next year. It almost makes it worth the numbness and the pain to have him knocking down the door to care, for once.

Almost.

Licking her dry lips, she asks, “You talked to him?”

Korra nods. “A bit.”

One tired lid edges up in question. That or she had an itch her brain couldn't feel. Whichever it was, the motion allows far too much light in, blinding the Sergeant in an instant. “What's 'a bit'?” Asami demands through a teary squint.

“Well, first he was angry. Then he cried a little when I told him you were going to be okay,” the officer reports, reaching into her robe and withdrawing a tightly folded newspaper. “After that, I told him I was your CO. Angry again. Said you saved my life and he gushed about how proud he was you were his daughter.”

She didn't believe it. “Half of that you made up.”

“Tell him that, yourself.”

“Que?”

“According to that clerk that wheeled me in here, scuttlebutt is some busybody Congressman elbowed his way onto a cargo flight to visit his kid,” the usual snoop dished out like an overworked Specialist. “Some kind of committee head. Raised all kinds of hell to do it.”

In silence, the two women sit, hands embraced in hands. The driver thinks and thanks. Smiles when she can muster the energy. Wonders if the doctors have all run off.

Her father was coming to town? And Asami without a beer to chug and a friend's house to hide in.

“Make me a promise?”

“Depends.”

“I mean it. I want you to promise me something,” the driver says as the door finally shakes loose is frame. With a nod the Lieutenant ascents without even a hint of hesitation. “When he gets here, don't let him bring anyone else in, okay? Aides, press, whatever. Just… I don't know, lock the door or something.”

Another nod, then a swift retreat as a man in a floor length burgundy robe waltzes up with a grin from ear to ear. Gray hair speckled in with the black and a face like the most mischievous fox. “You rang?” he inquired, scooping up the pad hanging at Asami's feet and giving it a peruse.

“We did, about  **ten minutes** ago,” Korra grumbles, held back only by the twinned bars acting as a replacement button.

“You'll have to forgive Frank. Old ferret-face thinks he's too good a doctor to care about his patients,” the rather unkempt Captain jokes, flicking to the next page of the chart. Now he's close, she can see the cheer and smile on his face doesn't extend to his bloodshot eyes. When he moves to check her pulse, the faint (and familiar) whiff of bathtub gin burns each shallow breath. “You gave us all a scare when you came in, Sergeant. That blood stuff is supposed to stay on the inside, you know?”

Hate.

Cold hate.

The woman in the wheelchair radiates it like a glacier.

“Uh-uh, anyway, what seems to be the problem?” stumbles the doctor, shielding himself with the broad side of a clipboard.

_ Pain. _ “Just a little ache in my legs,” Asami tells him, shooting her own withering glance at Korra's bangs. Again, she licks her lips. Dry as a bone, same as the rest of her mouth.  _ Thirsty. _ “And I could really use some water.”

He scribbles. Tight little loops that barely move his wrist. “I'll, uh, send in a nurse to replace your IV fluids. That should help with the thirst. Until then, we'll get you some water and a selection of our finest canned juices. Only from the purest concentrate,” rambles the medical man, apparently unable (or unwilling) to stop himself. “As for pain, could you turn away for a second?”

She does. They both do. Away from the blinking machine with its number pad. He hits a sequence, turns the knob, and hits an arrow twice.

**_Fuck, that burns!_ **

Gritting her teeth, Asami feels the opiates ooze through the needle and into her veins. Each thump of her heart spreads it further, leaving blessed numbness in the wake of a smoldering fire. By the time it hits her toes, she feels woozy. Has to blink the dizziness away.

“Better?”

“Better.”

So does return his impish smile. “Good. I'll check up with you in a half hour to make sure.”

“Thank you, Sir,” both women chorus, one a good deal more wooden than the other. Blood was draining from that chiseled, beautiful face at a rate that would be impossible unless the owner had sprung a leak. It gets worse every time his eyebrow wiggles, to the point she tries to hustle him out with a, “That's everything, Cpt. Pierce.”

“Be careful around this one, Sergeant. Last time she was here, she seduced two of our nurses,” he teases, hanging up the chart.

“Out!”

“Found her with one of them in the linen closet.”

“Out! Or I'll throw you out by your teeth!” Asami watches with great annoyance as her somewhat secret girlfriend rises halfway out of her wheelchair with her one good fist ready to swing. “As if you haven't! I mean-”

Retreating as fast as his beanpole legs could carry him, the oddball physician calls out, “I take great offense at that accusation! I'm a happily single sleaze!”

The door slams before anyone can retort. Not that half the people in the room are in any condition to. Most of the rest are too busy bitching about the noise to do much else. But Korra? Oh, her Korra goes quiet as a lamb, picking away at her paper with the absentminded intent of a very flustered officer.

“Nurses, huh?”

Mumble, mumble.

“I take it you played Doctor?”

She scratches her chin and finally meets Asami's eye. “It was just, you know? I'd been here for almost a year. I was tired. Lonely-”

“And thirsty.”

Maybe half a smile cracks. “Like you wouldn't believe,” the tanker snorts, resuming hand-holding procedures. Easy is her tenseness to pass. Soon she has that easy smirk that matches that of her father like a carbon copy. “I can make it up to you, if you want? Don't have any plans once we get back.”

“I'll think about it...”  _ I'll ravage you. _

“Oh!” her love exclaims, flipping open pages and scurrying for the cover of her tabloid, “I almost forgot. Saw your subscription Stars and Stripes ran out. Thought I'd get you the latest copy.”

_ Stars an- I've never had a subscription to any paper in my life. _

And yet, she has one handed to her, seemingly well thumbed. Ink smudged, pages slightly torn and bent at the corners, and enough lines drawn on it to be a crossword. Below the headline, off to one side, circled in violet ink: **Pentagon Concludes Review:** _Article 600-20 is due to receive a full redrafting after a JAG Corps and Provost Martial review that brought up questions on the feasibility of current rules in a shifting Army culture. According to sources-_

“Just tell me what this means,” the Sergeant begs, eyes straining to make words out of fuzzy scribbles. “Twenty words or less.”

Letting her eyes flutter closed, Sato enjoys the bongo drum of her heartbeat inside her skull. It was a dull, rhythmic, almost pleasant feeling without the downside of pain. But all was shock when lips brush against hers.

There are a couple quiet hoots that she almost hears.

Only, she couldn't be feeling. Or hearing. She must be dreaming. Living some hallucination brought on by blood loss and anesthesia. Or a sudden blow to the head.

“Means I can kiss you, now. Probably.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the NCO hisses, weakly smacking her superior on whatever an exhausted arm could reach. Somewhere between Curve A and Hip B. Frankly, it's less than a slap. Not even enough to make her palms sting. Though her anger was worth a throttling. “There are  **people** here!”

Lips quirk, eyes roll. “Half these guys won't remember past breakfast and are pissing into bags. The others are ours or don't speak the language. What's the problem?”

“You! You! YOU!”

“Me?”

Her head hurts. Only it can't hurt, so it throbs with every heartbeat. Heat flushes her cheeks. For the first time in years, she's embarrassed by the smile of a pretty girl. And the leers of a few men trying to steal it for themselves.

Biting her tongue, for the moment, she reminds, “It said 'rewriting' not 'rewritten'.”

“Just a matter of time. We'll have plenty of that when we get back to the States. A bit of R&R in Germany on the way. Maybe slip out and see the sights?” It's a proposal Asami can't help but let her numb mind wander off down, while her fluffy tongue still wants for water. Good beer, public transit, and lederhosen. Just like home, really. “And, when we get back, I'm betting you're going to need some PT before you're back on your feet. Might need to stay with someone for a while. Purely for health reasons, of course.”

She snorts a snort that nearly drowns her in nine-months worth of sandy mucus. “Oh, god. Fuck! Are you saying you want me to move in?”

Her TC shrugs, “In a few extra words, yes.”

“There's no way that's going to happen. Rule change or no, you're still my CO,” Asami smirks in her increasingly weary stupor. “The Army might be fine with gay soldiers, and a mixing of the species, but there's no way in hell we'll ever be above board.”

“Unless I get a transfer.”

More blinking, more thinking. More thanks to the Lord for the strength of GI morphine. Along with a number of gestures and facial expressions requesting clarification.

“Bravo, 1-63 is short a CO, so I here. Different battalion, but we're billeted right next to them. Wouldn't be much of a commute.” Her hand squeezes the ever limper one attached to Asami's wrist. It was all the latter could do to keep her green eyes fixed loosely on those brilliant sapphires. A yawn seems inevitable, even as her mind fights to catch up. “We wouldn't be under the same chain of command, anymore. I'd get a nice bump in pay. You'd get out from under my hovering. Everyone wins.”

A finger rises in objection. “One small problem, babe. You're a Lieutenant, not a Captain.”

One woman smiles, smugly, the other rolls her exhausted eyes.

“Colonel Hardass?”

“Colonel Beifong,” Korra confirms, “Gonna put in a good word for me. Get me on the fast-track. Frankly, I just think she wants me out of her hair.”

Asami hums, noncommittally. With the loss of sensation came a marked loss of energy. Not that she'd had much to begin with. Each blink takes longer than the last. Lids heavier and heavier by the moment, like great stones hung from them by hooks. Sleep feels so inviting. Ten minutes. Enough to process.

“Hey, Korra?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm really tired.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

There's a pause that lasts a heartbeat, but seems like ages in the darkness. “Always.”

**_And she was._ **

_ Army policy does change, and Korra proposes to her girlfriend two years, to the day, after they first met. Both women enjoy long careers in the military, with Asami retiring at the rank of First Sergeant to take her father's seat in congress. She goes on to be the third woman elected President of the United States (and the first lesbian). _

_ Korra stays in the military, eventually becoming commander of SOUTHCOM, and topping off her career by briefly sitting on the Joint Chiefs. She is preceded in this role by General Lin Beifong, her good friend. _

_ Mako marries, living happily with his wife, retiring to become a police officer. He eventually becomes Chief of the Philadelphia Police Department. _

_ Bolin falls hopelessly in love with a reporter from the New York Times. In order to be closer to her, he goes to journalism school and enjoys a long career as a military and foreign correspondent for various papers and channels. Together, he and his wife win a Pulitzer Prize. _

_ Kuvira and Bataar have two more children, one boy and one girl. After her husband is severely injured in an accident, she resigns to a civilian life, going to college and becoming a school teacher. After many years of hard work and tireless dedication to her community, she becomes Superintendent of the school district her children went to, having taught each of them. Kuvira is the only person on stage when Asami takes office to heckle her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's that. What started as something to break up the monotony of writing something else has become something very dear to me. I'm kinda sad to see it go. So, for one final time on this work, I'll ask you all for what you thought. And, for the first, I'll hope to hear from you again on the next project, whatever it might be.


End file.
